


Every Time I Thought of You

by uwontfeelathing



Series: His and Mine are the Same [3]
Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV), L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables (2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Letters, Lust, New Year's Kiss, So much kissing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, no sex because it's literally 1900 and no one is married, party like its 1900, seriously, so very much fluff and kissing, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23026813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uwontfeelathing/pseuds/uwontfeelathing
Summary: Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and Gilbert Blythe are entering their second semester of college, and are going back to their long-distance relationship after having spent a blissful Christmas Break in each other's company.Love letters, dances, secret late-night meet-ups... engagement? *Gulp*What does their future hold?(...fluff. And Happily Ever After. Obviously.)*Hi! I love comments - please let me know what you think of this leg of our story! As always, I am so grateful to you for reading -- I love this fandom with my whole, Shirbert-trash heart. Find me on Tumblr and Tweeter @uwontfeelathing
Relationships: Diana Barry/Jerry Baynard, Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe & Sebastian "Bash" Lacroix, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Marilla Cuthbert & Matthew Cuthbert, Mary Lacroix/Sebastian ''Bash'' Lacroix, Ruby Gillis/Moody Spurgeon MacPherson, Sebastian "Bash" Lacroix & Muriel Stacy
Series: His and Mine are the Same [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608142
Comments: 439
Kudos: 397





	1. Such Sweet Sorrow

Honored and Respected Sir, 

Mrs. Lynde just left - having come by with a basket of sewing just in time to take tea with Marilla and I. After the scones (baked by yours truly - which were quite delicious, I might add, so I will not have you snickering as you read this. I only burned the batch I made last week because a  _ certain someone _ was being  _ quite distracting _ , if you’ll recall, and I lost track of the time. I am quite an accomplished baker. Truly. Ask anyone) were passed around, Mrs. Lynde reached into the depths of her basket and produced a pile of letters tied up in twine. 

Gilbert, she had brought a collection of her grandparents’ love letters! They were filled with fascinating tidbits, including the greeting that I began this letter with - can you imagine me calling you “honored sir” in earnest? I could not even have imagined that Mrs. Lynde’s grandmother had been serious had I not read the evidence with my own eyes! 

This line of thinking led me, naturally, to the nature of the letters that you and I have had the pleasure of exchanging. Which led me to imagine our grandchildren passing them around in polite company. Which led me to excusing myself for a few moments until I could control the burning in my cheeks and what was surely the incredibly guilty expression upon my face. 

By the time I had re-entered the sitting room, I found that Ms. Stacy had also come to call, and the three women were laughing merrily over one passage or another. I memorized my favorite tidbit so I could share it here with you - it was a sign-off from Mrs. Lynde’s grandfather, which read:  _ Good night, belovedest. Your sleep will be sweet if there is any influence in the wishes of - Your Own. _ Isn’t that just  _ lovely _ ? 

In the course of our afternoon visit, Mrs. Lynde and Ms. Stacy shared quite a few stories of their own courtships, and I soon stopped trying to leave the room each time I colored up. Instead I lost myself in their tales of romance, parental disapproval (Mr. Lynde’s mother), secret rendezvous (none so scandalous as those a certain couple I know of have experienced - at least not in the retelling over tea and scones), and pining (Ms. Stacy and her Jonas wrote to one another every week of their  _ three year engagement _ ! Just imagine)! 

But then, when Marilla joined in, sharing her regret at not having received any love letters during her own lost love affair, the buoyant air of the room grew heavy and still. It suddenly occurred to me, how fragile it all is - how precious - and how much loss was represented, even just in our small gathering. Our light-hearted conversation grew deeper as my companions shared more poignant stories from their lives, and I was struck with the incredible heart and resilience of the women surrounding me. 

Mrs. Lynde has been married for thirty-five years this summer. Her grandparents were married for fifty-one years, and died within weeks of one another. But…

But Marilla believed that she could make plans, once. And Ms. Stacy believed that she had time to live and love and laugh at the side of her own beloved. And poor Bash and Mary. And Matthew and Jeanie.

My heart aches as I write this, knowing that we will soon be parted once again. The last ten days have truly felt like glimpsing heaven, my darling boy. And knowing that none of it is guaranteed - that I can’t say with any certainty whether we will have the next five decades or even the next five days to spend by one another’s side, makes it that much harder to bear. There are too many stories of devastation and regret for me to remain complacent knowing that the next few months will be spent so far from the one I love. 

However, each of the people I know who have experienced heartbreak are the very same beings who were forged in the fires of their pain and hardships -- I did not need to ask any of the wonderful, wise women I was seated with whether they would change anything if they could. I already knew what their answer would be -that it truly _ is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all _ . 

Life is too short for regrets; the world, too wide; our hearts and minds, too young to be weighed down by fear. Instead, what I have taken away from this afternoon is this: I am determined to love you with all that is in me for as long as I am allowed to do so. And every moment I am given will be enjoyed to the very fullest. 

My only real worry, then, is just  _ when _ you will  _ finally arrive  _ so I can show you what I mean about enjoying each moment with you. I cannot believe it is New Year’s Eve already! I only hope I’ll have room on my dance card for any young, attractive future-doctors who may be at the party tonight…

_____

I just re-read the last bit of my letter to you, and thinking of my dance card had me stifling laughter in my elbow so as to not disturb Marilla (who is down with another headache - they do seem especially prevalent when she hasn’t been sleeping well) -- the _look_ on your _face_ when Charlie asked if he might dance the waltz with me! Gil, _really_. _Adorable_ is the only word that could possibly be used to describe the scrunched-up look on your face when you’re jealous. I’m sorry, but it is true, and I’m certain that Bash would agree with me should I ask him. Shall I ask him? 

Last night was so marvelous, darling. Honestly, who knew being in love was so magical? Someone should let the great poets and artists of the world know about this. 

Sorry, I suppose that losing out on sleep gives some people awful headaches, and leaves others feeling quite silly. I should be grateful, falling in the second camp as I do. I will sober myself up by remembering that tomorrow morning we will say goodbye to one another for another eighteen weeks. 

Well, not quite eighteen weeks, since last night you promised me once more that you would come to Charlottetown for Aunt Jo’s masquerade ball in February! The moment your train has pulled away, I plan to begin counting down the days. God bless Aunt Jo and her dear Gertrude for throwing a ball in the bleakest part of winter! 

Thankfully the dancing portion of Aunt Jo’s annual fete makes up a very small portion of all there is to see and do - you and I really must learn to dance more than just the Dashing White Sergeant with any amount of competency at some point (though no dance could ever be quite so dear to me as the darling DWS). I honestly thought that Mrs. Andrews was going to shout at us after the second time we bumped into her during the two-step! 

By far my favorite part of the evening was when the clock struck midnight and you swept me into your arms and… Gil, I honestly don’t know how you can make me forget where I am entirely every time your lips meet mine. You call me a dryad, but I am not the one with the ability to transport us to a time and place where no one exists but the two of us. There is magic in your kiss, dearest, and I am eager at each new opportunity to study the power wielded therein. 

Oh dear, I have distracted myself with your lips, and you aren’t even in the room with me! See? Magic. What I meant to say was that kissing you at midnight was lovely, but  _ after  _ the kiss -- getting to see the shock on Mrs. Lynde’s face! Well, it was wonderful to return the favor and watch  _ her _ face redden. 

I am writing this from the desk in my room, but if I am being honest I have spent much more time gazing longingly out of my window, hoping to catch a glimpse of you arriving to take me sledding at your favorite spot (it’s the big hill by the Spurgeon’s pond - I  _ know _ it is, but the fact that you refused to confirm or deny that it  _ is _ the big hill by the Spurgeon’s pond makes me think that you are trying to start another argument with me. If you think that I am going to grab you by the lapels of your red winter coat and kiss the stuffing out of you every time you annoy me just because our last argument ended that way, then I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed, sir). I have loved being able to see Avonlea the way you see it this week, darling. It makes me wish that I had spent much, much less time considering you my academic rival and nothing more.

Just think of all of the  _ studying  _ we could have done side-by-side… Really, it is a good thing that we are going to school so very far apart from one another. The other night, when you were reading your holiday assignment and I was working on that editorial for the Charlottetown paper proves that we cannot be trusted to do anything productive (academically speaking) within a country mile of one-another. Unless you consider playing footsie under the table until we are both so distracted that we wind up grinning and staring at each other until Matthew has to clear his throat  _ twice _ just to get our attention “productive”. 

When I’m with you, I just feel this magnetic pull to-- oh! I just spotted you approaching the Green Gables gate with a long toboggan tucked under your arm! I’m off to grab the basket I’ve packed us - filled with more perfectly-baked goods from yours truly, I’ll add here for posterity’s sake. 

_____

My darling, I just got out of the big copper wash tub downstairs, where I took a long, luxuriously hot bath; have robed myself in my coziest nightgown (I believe you are acquainted); have plaited my hair down my back; and have selected the perfect nib for my pen to write you a small and sure-to-be-scandalous ending to this letter. It is neither too scratchy or stubbed or pointed to write to you all of the delicious and indecent ways that being with you makes me feel. 

I believe I wrote the earlier portions of this letter with Mrs. Lynde’s grandparents in mind - wondering who might stumble upon our love letters one day, and wanting them to know of all of the fun and funny and companionable hours we have spent together on this holiday. But tonight I cannot bring myself to care about the way our possible progeny may feel about passing these letters down. 

Tonight I only care for the way that you sat me between your legs - my back to your chest - and pulled me close, so close, as we rode that old toboggan down the big hill by the Spurgeon’s pond; and for the aching stab of pleasure that shot through me every time your arms came around me and I felt you lean forward, your cheek brushing against mine. 

I only care for the way that I felt the heat of your hands - through the fabric of my dress and underthings, as you gripped me around the waist to pull me into your kiss. 

I only care for the way that my whole body is still tingling with the feeling of you pressing me down onto our picnic blanket. The way I should have felt the cold of the snow through the thin fabric of the blanket, but all I could feel was the heat of your hands and lips and chest and stomach and legs against mine. 

The way that heat stayed with me while I lay back in the bath tonight, and every soft press of the washcloth against my skin crackled with the energy trapped just beneath the surface from every soft press of your body against mine. 

The way I feel for you is nothing short of scandalous, and I can’t bring myself to regret a single bit of the passion and heat and need you generate in me - not on our last night home. 

Now, warm and dry in my own bedroom, still crackling with desire, I find myself wishing to hear the creak of footsteps in the hallway. In my imagination, I can hear you quietly opening the door to my bedroom, can see you slipping under my quilt, can imagine your hands on me, your lips, your body. 

Tonight, I only care for the absence of you. 

Here is hoping that tomorrow returns sensible, respectable Anne to us both. But until then, I think I’ll climb into bed, close my eyes, and let my formidable imagination have its way with you, my darling. 

_____

Oh. Dear. 

Well, if my cheeks are still glowing a brilliant red when you see me at the station in an hour, now you know why. 

I am practicing bravery this morning in the form of leaving the last page of this letter intact. My hand could slip and accidentally spill an entire bottle of ink over it… but, no. No regrets… not after all of the brave and wondrously scandalous feelings you’ve shared with me. 

I only hope that you will still feel that way after you read what a wanton wretch you’ve entangled yourself with. At least it’s not too late for you to change your mind about me, right? 

I am all packed up once more, and facing the fact that each time I leave this house it gets harder. Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Shouldn’t practice make perfect, as the saying goes? But, no. Now, more than ever before, the four walls of this bedroom represent the happiest and safest and most loved I have ever felt - could ever have hoped to feel - and leaving feels foolhardy at best. 

To tell you that I will miss you while we are parted is the grossest under-use of language I can imagine, Gil. Spending so much time with you this holiday has been a dream-come-true, and saying goodbye will be the rude awakening to reality that always follows even the best of dreams. 

The only comfort I can give myself is knowing that I will see you in just six weeks. Unless - Gil, were I to show up on the doorstep of your boarding house in Toronto, is there any chance you’d be able to find a corner to tuck me in while you are in class? 

...best to say no, even if your building had a whole wing in which to house me, as I’m not sure I could withstand the temptation of accompanying you to Toronto should you ask. 

Goodness, listen to me. You know I’m dead gone over you when I fantasize about leaving school to be with you! 

I am going to close my eyes and, instead of imagining myself in Toronto with you, I will imagine you reading this on your long journey west. I’ll imagine you smiling at all of the right parts… and then looking nervously over your shoulder at all of the  _ wrong _ parts, thanks to my overheated head last night… and now I’ll imagine you squaring your shoulders - as I will surely find the strength to do just after I watch your train cross the horizon in Charlottetown - and I’ll picture you giving all of your determination and focus to spending another semester doing excellent work toward your brilliant future. 

Until we are reunited, I remain as determined as ever to love you with all that is in me, and to enjoy every moment that I am able to love you - either from close up or worlds apart - to the fullest. 

_ Good _ bye _ , belovedest. Your  _ semester  _ will be sweet if there is any influence in the wishes of -  _

_ Your Own,  _

Anne with an E

PS I will  _ not _ spend the time after we are parted imagining out our lives together after this semester, where we will be able to work and roam and play side-by-side in the brilliant yellows and greens and blues of summer in Avonlea… Well, maybe just for a few minutes… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *i borrowed a few lines from Anne of Windy Poplars here in quoting from Mrs. Lynde’s grandparents’ love letters (in the book they are Aunt Chatty’s relatives’ letters) so I could bring a lil feel from the books in here. 
> 
> I’m so grateful to LM Montgomery for these characters and this story that has had my heart since the fourth grade (but never had ANYWHERE NEAR enough Gilbert in them for my liking 😉).
> 
> Also, this work is brought to you by the incredible background writing music of the album Good Luck, Kid by the band Joseph. Give them a listen if you're into greatness. 
> 
> I love you all.


	2. For the Ends of Being

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> I love Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, and she loves me. 
> 
> Our language simplifies something so complicated and unfathomable and incredible that my mind struggles to reconcile the simple sentence with the complex way that loving you and being loved by you makes me feel. 
> 
> I am done with attempting to judge the depths and breadths and heights of love that my soul can contain - each new moment with you exceeds my previous capacity for such feelings, and I am struck anew with awe and wonder at the way being loved by you has changed everything.  
> *****

Dearest Carrots, 

_ How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. _

Every time I have taken your last letter out of my pocket and read it - and, honestly, I have long since lost count of the number of times I have done this - Elizabeth Barret Browning’s famous sonnet has run through my head. Every single time I have held you in my arms or looked into your eyes or pressed my lips to yours or read your words, the poet’s opening verse has come into my mind:

_ I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach. _

And each time I have felt sure that this was true - that I loved you to the very capacity of my soul - I have soon found myself proven wrong. 

I love Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, and she loves me. 

Our language simplifies something so complicated and unfathomable and incredible that my mind struggles to reconcile the simple sentence with the complex way that loving you and being loved by you makes me feel. 

I am done with attempting to judge the depths and breadths and heights of love that my soul can contain - each new moment with you exceeds my previous capacity for such feelings, and I am struck anew with awe and wonder at the way being loved by you has changed everything.

I am not sure what a love like ours feels like to others, but, for me, getting to know you and touch you and listen to you and love you has shifted the very gravity of my existence. This new gravity no longer draws me downward, but Anne-ward, and I feel the pull growing stronger by the day, sometimes by the hour. Time and distance does nothing against this profound shift - my whole self - mind, body, and soul - are in a constant state of craving, and the only object is you, Anne. 

In the absence of your physical being, this change in gravity has required that I keep your latest letter on my person at all times. I have read one portion of this letter in particular so often that it seems impossible that your words should still set me on fire each time, and yet they do. 

I’ll never look at an old copper tub the same way ever, ever again. 

The thrill of reading your words, your feelings, your longing has yet to wear off - could never wear off while I still have life in me. Just referencing it here has made my heart begin to pound out a ragged rhythm and my breathing grow shallow. If you were here with me, Anne, I-- 

The part of my mind that  _ demands  _ that I remain a gentleman in your eyes for as long as possible (assuming I haven’t already disabused you of this view of me) asks that I not finish that sentence. Allow me to say only that I am very, very glad that we are so many kilometers apart at the moment, my love. I promised you that we should have no regrets, and I aim to keep my word. 

So far I have found that life in Toronto remains more or less the way I left it. My boarding house is still noisy and crowded in all common areas at all hours, and I still find myself stuffed into the desk chair at my corner desk in my corner bedroom, head in hands, more often than not - usually attempting to turn my attention from a certain redhead I know back to my studies. 

In some ways, it is a relief to get back to the work ahead of me. I love the feeling of missing bits of information clicking into place; of reading the latest medical journals and feeling the tingling thrill of new discoveries, advances in our knowledge of how the body works, or the root of one disease or another. I love knowing that I will leave every grueling study session with new knowledge that will one day, God willing, lead me to care better for an ailing patient. That I have the potential to make a difference in the lives of so many is thrilling and terrifying and keeps me at my work long after my mind or body beg for rest. 

But then something will happen - the wind will howl outside of my darkened window, or I will catch sight of my unmade bed against the wall, or I’ll move to cross my ankles - and somehow the thought of you will steal the very breath from my lungs. It’s not missing you, or wanting you, or even the memory of being with you that does it. 

It’s just… it’s this aching need to hold you in my arms, to breathe in the same air as you, to watch your eyes sparkle with mischief or passion, to feel your heart beat in time against mine. The desperation of this ache sneaks up on me each time, and each time I feel that my heart will break with needing you near me. 

How do people survive losing the great loves of their lives? I watched my father do it, though I suppose I was too young to remember having seen the worst of it. I watched Bash do it, and just the memory of having to watch him endure that pain is enough to leave me feeling like a hole has been shot clean through my chest. I have seen the echo of that same pain in Ms. Stacy’s eyes, and once even in Marilla’s. 

When I think about all of the ways that there are to lose a love like ours, it makes me want to turn in my books and stethoscope and beg you to let me remain by your side always. It’s almost enough to make me want to live as small a life as is humanly possible, just to try to prevent disaster - as though I could. 

In truth, even with all I have seen and imagined of pain and loss, I cannot fathom what losing your love would do to me. I know that, even should I lay here in my bed and force myself to imagine in the greatest of detail what my life would be without you in it, I could never adequately prepare myself for that kind of pain. 

Somehow, though, being loved by you makes me feel more brave, too. Like I don’t have to be afraid of heartbreak, because being with you means getting to experience the very best that life has to offer, too. Elizabeth Barret Browning knew better what I am feeling, I believe, for her most romantic of poems, with which I began this letter, concludes: 

_ I love thee with the breath, _

_ Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, _

_ I shall but love thee better after death. _

That is exactly how I love you, my Anne - with all of me, fearlessly. Nothing could change that - not all of the sorrow this life can contain. Not even death. 

I want you forever, Anne. I was afraid to say these words aloud to you when we were together - afraid of scaring you, or of hearing you say that we are too young or inexperienced or incapable of understanding what a word like forever means. But I do understand it - forever. I do when I am with you. 

I’m sorry - please ignore the way my thoughts seem to bounce around the page this evening. My head has felt so odd today - so light on my shoulders, and now, as I feel my eyelids growing heavy, I shall have to continue counting all of the ways that I love you tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, until you finally agree to be mine forever. Then I will get to tell you in person how very much I desire you to be a part of my every morning and afternoon and evening. And nighttime. Especially the nighttimes, my love. Gentlemanliness be damned. 

_____

Red is my favorite color. Did you know that? 

It really is. It wasn’t always, but it certainly is now. When I close my eyes underneath these too-bright, harsh lights, it’s always red. Then I wish that it was you here, sponging my forehead and feeding me these horrible elixirs that taste like poison and leave me feeling like my head will float off of my shoulders and up into the hot, bright lights and then pop like an overfull balloon. 

Another not-you nurse just came past. She said that my temperature is 40 degrees centigrade, which means that I am not allowed to write letters. But I took back my pen and paper as soon as she had gone, because I can’t see how writing to you can hurt me now, when so much else hurts me. 

This morning I arrived at Christine's laboratory, and was sent away again almost immediately. The esteemed Doctor Oak determined that my face was flushed and said that I looked miserable, so I informed her that my beloved was half a world away from me so of course I was miserable, and then she said that I should go to the hospital, and I said that the whole school was supposed to be full of doctors, and she said I needed to lie down, and I told her that every time I lie down I ache with wanting Carrots, and she told me that perhaps I have a beta carotene deficiency and I just laughed and laughed and laughed. 

Everyone here is a student doctor or a student nurse, accompanied by a real doctor or nurse teacher, and the student doctor says that I have a terrible case of the flu. Isn’t that terrible? 

I have never had such a bad feeling in all of my lifetime as I do now, with the possible exception of when I thought that you didn’t love me back and that I would spend the rest of my life wanting and wanting and wanting you, and never once having you. Not that I don’t still want and want and  _ want _ you, my Anne-girl. Because I do. I really do.    
  


But not when it hurts so much. When I have you, I promise that nothing will hurt either of us ever again, because I only want you to feel good and safe and loved and desired. And even when I don’t have to want you anymore, I will never, ever stop wanting you. 

I get another dose of laudanum elixir in an hour, but during the last hour before my next dose all time seems to slow down and nearly-stop and it’s awful. I believe I shall lay down my pen, my pen that was a Christmas gift from you - you whom I love so, so much - and try to rest to keep the time from stopping altogether. 

When next you hear from me, I shall be well again. Or at least I shall have more elixir in me, which gives me strength for writing and sometimes, also, it gives me wings to get out of bed and fly to you and steal a kiss or two before I have to be back here for my next last slow, hour, and next bitter poisonous floating draft from the not-you nurse. 

_____

_ Hello Ms. Cuthbert,  _

_ My name is Elisa, and I am a nursing student at the University of Toronto hospital. I am writing at the urging of young Mr. Blythe to tell you that he is still rather unwell, and is unable to complete this letter on his own. He remains  _ quite _ determined that it be sent to you in a timely manner, though, so I promised I would convey a quick message to you here.  _

_ He has asked me to let you know that he is doing well, and that he - ahem - cares  _ very deeply  _ for you. I have heard a lot about you in the past three days that Mr. Blythe has been a patient here with us, and I can say that last bit with great confidence. You sound lovely, if my young patient is to be trusted.  _

_ I am sure that you would also like to hear how Mr. Blythe’s health is faring, and I must say that he is keeping in good spirits (much of this positivity, he  _ assures  _ us, is due to you) despite maintaining quite a high fever. His breathing remains labored, and his cough persists despite the aid of our strongest treatments. I do not wish to alarm you, but we are anxious that his fever should break in the next twenty-four hours.  _

_ We have sent a telegraph to his next-of-kin to alert them to his condition, and he has asked that I inform you should further communication become necessary.  _

_ Mr. Blythe has asked that I send you his affection and best wishes,  _

_ Elisa Pringle _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe COVID-19 MANIA (be safe out there, please!!) has put contagious disease on my mind, and I am truly sorry for that, but is this the part where I remind you that our babies only deserve good things and that I will never truly hurt them?
> 
> Also, did you know that they used opiates for LIT'RALLY EVERYTHING back in the day? So not only is Lil Baby Gil suuuper sick, but he is also SUUUUPER F**KED UP right now. Don't do drugs, y'all. Not ever. Not even if you find Dopey Gil even more adorable than Jealous Gil. 😘
> 
> I hope you liked this little chapter - I have enjoyed reading your response to chapter one so, So, SO much - thank you for all of the kind comments and support. I love y'all like crazy and I promise to have another chapter up this week if you keep sending me your positive vibes and love and old prescription pills so I can turn them, alchemy-like, into Shirbert romance! 😜
> 
> xoxoxo 
> 
> PS wash your hands! but also don't worry because if we all end up quarantined it means i'll get to write you Shirbert full-time and really, the end of the world won't be that bad as long as we all have swoon-worthy fanfic to keep us company! right? no? just me? 😷💕 (sorry I'm such a dork, but this is me genuinely hoping you all are well - I care about you! xo)


	3. To Seek a Newer World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> Dear Diana...  
> *****

Dear Diana, 

Thank you so much for sending along my letter to Dr. Brooke explaining my absence this week - I hope it was well-received. I know that getting behind in my studies is a dangerous business on this expedited one-year track, but I just couldn’t stay. I’m sorry I left in such a rush, but I had to come. I know you understand, Diana. 

The journey to Toronto was pleasant enough - after all,  it’s been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will. I spent most of the journey looking out of the window - I have never been this far west before and I was determined to appreciate the scenery, bleak and frost-bitten as it was. 

Having caught the first train out of Charlottetown, I was able to arrive just in time to gain admittance to the University Hospital, even though their visiting hours were set to end shortly after my arrival. Luckily, I was able to make a friend on-staff at the hospital very quickly, and managed to stay an extra couple of hours this evening. More kindred spirits everywhere I go - it’s simply splendid to find that there are so many of them in this dear old world. 

As soon as I showed up, flushed and panting from my trek from the station, the nurse at the admission desk where Gilbert is being cared for stood up and took a good, long look at me. Then she smiled warmly and said -  _ said _ and not  _ asked _ , “You’re Anne.” 

I suppose Gilbert, in his fevered state, really did mention me a few times. 

That nurse turned out to be Elisa Pringle - the very same woman who wrote to tell me of Gilbert’s condition! She is warm and wonderful, and I am so glad that Gilbert has had such good care here with her. She took me straight to his bedside, and, oh. Diana. My heart hurts so much just thinking of the way his wild curly hair lay flat and matted to his head, his shallow breathing, his pale, dry lips. He looked miserable, and it took all of the remaining strength I had not to lay my head down on his chest and cry. 

Instead, though, Elisa showed me where to find fresh water, sponges, and other necessities. I spent the rest of this evening offering him sips of water when he was lucid enough to drink, sponging the heat and sweat from his brow, and speaking softly to him. When he first opened his eyes to find me sitting beside him, he smiled weakly and whispered my name. I felt so glad to be there with him, and simultaneously so heartbroken at seeing Gilbert this way, especially after having spent the past weeks in his vibrant company. 

Not since the night I spent helping you care for Minnie May have I felt so grateful for the years of my young life that I spent caring for others. I have cared for so many sick children in my lifetime, and am no stranger to the ravages of respiratory illnesses, but… Diana, the helplessness that accompanies watching the man you love in pain… and the fear that stole over my heart - leaving me breathless and gasping - when I couldn’t help but think the unthinkable…

As the sun set and I knew I couldn’t stay, my heart grew cold with fear and dread. Oh, how I wish I could have stayed. I felt so lost and alone, too, in a big city with no one acquainted to me except the boy resting fitfully nearby. Thankfully Elisa was there to help, and the dreadful, all-consuming loneliness passed quickly. I’m not sure what I am feeling now, except completely exhausted.

Oh dear, I’m not making any sense, am I? I sound nearly as erratic as Gilbert’s last letter to me, but do not fear - I have not come down with his fevered sickness. I am only tired, body and soul. I shall write more tomorrow once I have had a good night’s sleep before I send this off to you. Goodnight, darling Diana. 

_____

Reading back over my words from last night feels like trying to use a map without a key - and I am the one who wrote them! I’m so sorry I wrote in such a jumbled state, and I hope my befuddled words haven’t caused you undue concern. Rest assured that I am feeling much more myself this morning, having slept well through the night, despite the heaviness of heart that accompanied me to bed. Soon I will head back to the hospital -just in time for visiting hours to commence. 

Leaving the hospital last night was so difficult, when all I wanted was to stay and make sure Gilbert rested well through the night, but I see now that it would not have done either of us any good for me to be ill-rested and illogical. I wasn’t sure where I was going to rest my head until I was gathering my things to leave last night. Thankfully Elisa was there to help me once again. She suggested that I approach the landlady of Gilbert’s boarding house, explain the situation, and see whether she would allow me to stay in his room while he is a patient at the hospital. 

Who could have guessed what a comfort it would be to me to be able to lay my head upon Gilbert’s pillow last night; to be surrounded by his books and papers and linens, and feel him there with me when I found myself so lost and aching without him? The usual loneliness of being in a strange bed was non-existent, surrounded as I was by the woody scent of my beloved. Isn’t it wonderful how very romantical even one’s scent becomes to their beloved? I know that you are familiar with this sentiment, dearest Di, so I hope I’m not causing you to blush that beautiful, rosy red as you read this. 

I also hope that you don’t find my current lodgings shocking or improper - I feared that the lady of Sloane House would find my suggestion immoral in some way, but in Mrs. Dew I believe I have found another kindred spirit. She seems truly fond of my Gilbert (who could blame her, really?), and seemed to know quite a bit about me already, too. 

That boy must have been in earnest when he wrote to me that he would proclaim our courtship to all of Toronto. In truth, I am beginning to fear that the corner grocer will stop me next to allow that Mr. Blythe’s description of my “Titian hair” was fitting or some other such nonsense! 

If such a thing does occur, I am afraid that you will have to journey to Toronto to retrieve my body, because I’m not sure I will survive the onset of another violent blush and bout of stammering like the greetings I received from Elisa and Mrs. Dew. 

I never knew that having a romantic partner would feel this way, Diana. I certainly anticipated the exchanging of love letters, the longing looks across a crowded room, the stolen kisses… I had read about all of those in countless stories and poems.

But being loved by Gilbert Blythe is so much more than that, more than anything I expected or hoped for. He makes me feel loved by him almost as if by accident. He didn’t tell the staff of the hospital or his landlady all about me because he knew I would hear about it. He doesn’t say the most shocking and indecent and romantic things to me in his letters because he thinks it’s what I want to hear. He does those things because he feels them, and his love moves him to speak - even as if against his will at times. He cannot seem to help himself, and I truly never imagined a feeling like this existed in this wide world. Not for me. 

And you of all people know what a statement that is, my imagination being capable of some truly preposterous and wonderful things. 

Mrs. Dew is a widow who runs the boarding house to make ends-meet since her husband was lost at sea in 1883 (she has urged me to call her “Rebecca Dew” to her face, as everyone here does, but I felt it would be improper to refer to her thusly in a letter to you, who are not acquainted with the woman nor her insistence at such informalities), and she makes the most  _ marvelous  _ cream scones I have ever tasted. Yes, even better than Aunt Josephine’s cook makes them! No wonder Gilbert had added some bulk to his arms and shoulders since I saw him last - I was worried he would starve himself, studying and working and writing away up in his attic room all alone - but absolutely no one could waste away with such fare being foisted upon them! And, Diana, she did truly  _ foist  _ her delicious wares upon me this morning. After breakfast I had to ask her to assist me in loosening my stays just so I could properly draw breath before I came back upstairs to gather my things!

She really is a lovely woman, too. It is a great comfort to know that Gilbert is in such good hands while we are parted. And to be able to see firsthand things I have only ever read about in his letters. Even now, as I sit at his desk and write to you, I am able to look out the same window that Gilbert has written to me about, I have seen the  _ atrociously _ large anatomy textbook he has lamented to me about, seen the place where he keeps my letters (I am not snooping, Diana! I swear it. I happened upon them as I lay down in his bed, as he has them tucked under his pillow, tied up in my favorite blue hair ribbon [the one I sent my embroidered handkerchief wrapped in this fall] - isn’t that the most romantical?)... Perhaps the loveliest thing about all of it is being able to know the man himself so well - to feel at home among his things, even though he cannot be here with me. There is an unspeakable comfort in this kind of knowing, and it has given me the strength to not be afraid. 

...or at least to not completely become crippled by the fear that is waiting to overtake me every moment. 

Oh, Diana, his temperature was still elevated when I left last night. Elisa told me that they expected it to return to normal almost two days ago. Two days. That number seems determined to circle in my mind like a hungry shark, poised to devour me whole as I picture him as I left him last evening - tossing and turning in fitful slumber on that narrow hospital bed. 

Elisa said that there was no need to fear, that the fever is a good sign, that it means his body is fighting back against the sickness inside of him. And I know that she is right. But… Diana, I have come face to face with the unspeakable in the last twelve hours, and I have come to a conclusion that chills me to my core: I am not strong enough to lose him. 

I was strong enough to be an orphan -- after all, it’s all I ever knew until Matthew and Marilla found me. I was strong enough to be unloved -- again, it was all I knew until I found stories that showed me how to love myself, even when no one else would. I was strong enough to face public ridicule and scrutiny -- what was my imagination for, if not to show me a way to escape the pain of not belonging to my new community? 

But, Diana. My imagination has been found wanting more than once as of late -- I couldn’t imagine Gilbert loving me, couldn’t imagine what being in love would really feel like, couldn’t imagine being someone’s wife -- and my fancy’s Achilles Heel seems to be one Gilbert Blythe.

I couldn’t imagine a love like the one I have found in him, and now I find myself unable to imagine a life without him. 

I honestly don’t think I could survive it. 

I’m sorry, Diana. I just have had tragedy on my mind too often lately, and much too often in my life - but I know it will all be alright. I don’t want to feel afraid; don’t want to allow this fear to overtake my senses. But when I think of how I love him… and how pale and frail he looked in that bed… I feel as though this fear and this love are changing the landscape of my world, and I’m afraid that I won’t recognize anything soon; that I won’t be able to survive too drastic an alteration to the world I know. 

_____

I had meant to send this letter by the morning post, but here it’s Tuesday evening, and I am still not finished! I promise to get it sent out tomorrow morning. I’m sorry - I know you’re worried, too. I pray this letter will arrive in Charlottetown in record time. 

The patient was awake and sitting up slightly when I arrived this morning, having just finished his breakfast (a glass of water and slice of brown bread - Elisa says they must “starve the fever”, which made me wish I had stuffed those extra scones into my pockets instead of my mouth this morning). The instant I saw him, I knew his fever had broken. I cannot describe the relief I felt - it weakened my knees enough that I was quite unsteady as I tried to hurry to his side, which caused him to cough out a short laugh and croak, “Careful, Carrots.” 

Once upon a time those two words would have sent me looking for something to break over that boy’s head, but this morning they nearly made me cry in relief and happiness! He tired shortly thereafter, but not before I was able to tell him a bit about my journey to Toronto, finding him at the hospital, and staying in his bed before I wore him out with smiling and laughter (which inevitably brought about more coughing, poor boy). He napped and revived through much of the day, and each time it was just the two of us I was able to climb into bed next to him and lay his head in my lap and just hold him - a miraculously wonderful feeling, though his breathing remains quite labored and he tires so quickly. Still, his coloring is much improved, and it’s just so good to see him smile. 

Elisa, too, seems much relieved by his current condition, which makes me less prone to give into pessimism. He needs to remain at the hospital until his breathing evens out and he is able to keep down a square meal. It truly does seem as though I missed the worst of it, which would make me feel awfully guilty if I wasn’t sure that watching him suffer more than I already have would have broken my spirit clean in two. 

If all goes to plan, I will take the train back to Charlottetown on Saturday and be back in time for class next week. Thank you again, dear one, for collecting work from my professors - what would I do without my dearest bosom friend? 

I pray you will get this in time to write back to me, because I was  _ not done _ disabusing you of your wrong-headed conclusions about your letter from Jerry - just because he wants to remain friends for now doesn’t mean he isn’t still  _ head over heels in love with you _ ! I am so pleased that he accepted your invitation to Aunt Jo’s next month, though, because now I am sure to have another friend on the side of true love - Cole! I feel certain he will agree with my assessment of things once he sees the way Jerry gazes longingly at you when you aren’t looking. 

Also, I am anxious to know whether a certain pompous, arrogant, ignorant, entitled moron has shown up again at Blackmore. I hope you sent him packing, if he did. 

I am relieved that you and I now know about Royal Gardner’s true character, but I still am unsure whether it was the right thing to do - not telling Josie and the other girls about what happened. If it was up to me, I would ruin his name all over Charlottetown, but you’re right (as usual): what happened to Josie after Billy accosted her is only the most recent example in a long line from my short life that proves that the girl often comes away besmirched by a boy’s malevolent deeds while the boy’s reputation remains unscathed.

Does it make me a coward, fearing the scorn of all of Queens Academy for what Royal is sure to try to pass off as a  _ misunderstanding _ ? By the way, when he accosted me outside of the arts building and had the  _ nerve  _ to call this all a  _ misunderstanding _ to my face, aren’t you proud of the way that I simply lifted my nose into the air and breezed past him? If you aren’t you should be, because what I  _ wanted _ to do was punch him,  _ hard _ , right in his aristocratic nose! 

At the moment feeling afraid for my reputation or the ignorance and scorn of others means little to me after the fright I have lived through these past few days. 

If Gilbert is well, then nothing else can hurt me. 

Isn’t perspective a fickle creature, Diana? Fortune, too. For now, I am grateful to have both on my side. 

Sending you all of the love that will fit in this little white envelope, 

Anne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHO RUN THE WORLD?
> 
> (girls, obvs. but also whoever it is that has bought up all of the toilet paper in my town.)
> 
> ........did....... did y'all like this? is this okay?   
> are YOU okay? i'm thinking of all of you during this batshit crazy time. be safe, my friends.


	4. Out of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> Having very recently lived through what one young resident at the hospital called, “A very close call, there, young man!” (this resident is maybe two years older than me, and when he called me young man it will not surprise you to learn that I had to physically bite down on my tongue to keep from calling him something much less nice than young man, but much, much more creative...  
> *****

Dear Nurse Shirley-Cuthbert, 

Is it strange for me to count a week I spent in the hospital as one of the greatest of my life? 

When I woke up from another fevered dream to find you next to me in Toronto, I honestly thought that I had died, until I saw the tears on your cheeks, and I knew that you would have no reason to cry if I was in heaven. But seeing you there, with the bright hospital lights haloing your face, and the quivering smile that crossed your lips when you said my name, I realized that wherever I was, it was much better than heaven could ever hope to be. 

I slept so much better that night, after I had seen your face - possibly because the fever was loosening its hold on me (I mean, medically speaking, that is definitely cause for a better night’s sleep), but a part of me thinks that my body was determined to get better so I could spend time with you. More of your faerie magic at work, no doubt. 

Is it strange for me to admit that I enjoyed this past week with you even more than I did our time in Avonlea over Christmas? 

Don’t mistake my meaning - our time together at home was incredible, and after this long, interminable week of careful distance I swear I will never again take for granted the ability to hold you in my arms and kiss you until you make one of those soft, sweet noises that make my bones feel like they have been electrified. 

But getting to spend a week with you where we talked for hours on end - no place to be, no callers to entertain, no worries about being overheard, no work to get back to… so much better than any heaven I have been able to imagine before. 

I determined something a couple of days into my convalescence that I hope you will agree with: I am still in mourning for the time we lost in our adolescence. We should have been friends from the beginning. Even when you finally would have admitted that we _were_ friends, during one of our many ephemeral truces, we weren’t the right kind of friends. We were always so _careful_ , so _polite_ , or conversely so very _argumentative,_ so _defensive_. 

I wonder if we had such trouble being friends because our souls yearned for a kind of closeness that our young minds were not yet ready to experience. I know young Gilbert could scarcely comprehend a pretty girl that didn’t want to talk to him, let alone his finding a soulmate across the aisle at school. 

After this week together I truly believe that, by the way - that you were meant to be my best friend, my soulmate, from the very beginning. 

(The reader will here note that I called you my _Best friend_ and not my _Bosom Friend_ owing to the fact that a _very_ attractive woman recently explained the difference in these two titles. I would _never_ presume to take the place of one’s _Bosom Friend,_ now that I know that such a thing exists.)

Having very recently lived through what one young resident at the hospital called, “A very close call, there, young man!” (this resident is _maybe_ two years older than me, and when he called me _young man_ it will not surprise you to learn that I had to physically bite down on my tongue to keep from calling him something much less nice than _young man_ , but much, _much_ more creative. Darling, please never let me act like a pompous fool, no matter my title or level of education? I couldn’t bear it if I felt it my destiny to turn into a condescending prat just because I held a license to practice medicine), I find I cannot allow myself too much time regretting the past in this letter. Especially not when I have you in my life, and the hope of the brightest future this _young man_ can imagine. 

Speaking of the future, I never got the chance to tell you of an interesting conversation I had with Nurse Pringle the night before I was discharged. After visiting hours, she was doing her nightly rounds when she spotted the cracked slate on my nightstand. She asked if I would like her to dispose of it, and when I nearly shouted _No!_ at her, she seemed rather offended, so I told her the history behind that particular gift. 

By the way, I still cannot believe that slate has remained at the bottom of your woodpile all of this time - you broke it on your second day of school! Nor can I believe that you had Marilla fish it out, wrap it up, and mail it to you here. I know I tried when I had you here, but I honestly cannot tell you how much it means to me, owning this piece of our history - instead of having only the lasting effects of the brain injury you gave me in return for my sweetest, juiciest apple. 

Once she had heard a brief recounting of my relationship with you ( _after_ the attempted murder in our one-room schoolhouse), Nurse Pringle sat very still and fixed a searching gaze upon my face. After a moment of silent reflection, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re not getting married?” She didn’t ask it, but said these words like an accusation of the vilest sort of treachery. 

Being quite taken aback at the conclusion she seemed to have made from what I thought was a sweet and endearing story, my mouth hung wide for a few moments before I gathered my wits and replied, “Oh! Oh, no. I just -- We are both so young. And medical school is _long_. And Anne will have her teacher’s license soon, and we just aren’t…” 

Her face had grown more and more disapproving as my timid speech went on, so I trailed off at around that point. After another tense moment, I tried again. “We have lots of time, so…”

One of her eyebrows shot high onto her forehead at that, and she looked at me pointedly, laying there in my hospital bed, ten pounds lighter than I had been a week ago and still too pale in my recovery. 

Isn’t it interesting how every recently happily-married person seems to make it their life’s mission to happily-marry everyone around them? I laughed off her meddlesome matchmaking, telling her that we are very happy to have finally stopped arguing long enough to realize that we are crazy about each other.

But now, reading back over your last letter to me, our exchange has struck me differently. I hate how so many things seem to be calling out to both of us that life is short, that nothing is guaranteed, and that we need to find a way to make the most of what we have every day. It’s a great message, but here, in my darkening attic bedroom, these sentiments feel ominous and foreboding instead of encouraging. 

But then I recall your small hand in mine, or the way the sound of your laughter made me feel whole when I could barely sit up unassisted, and it is enough to chase the clouds away. 

Does it make me too much an optimist, though, to say that I can’t truly believe in anything but a bright future for you and I? Though we both have experienced so much loss in our lives, being in love with you makes me believe that there could never be anything but a _happily ever after_ at the end of our story. 

Speaking of happily ever after, that story that you began telling me - the one about the little boy who lost his mother when he was young, and his father left him to be raised with his stern grandmother, but the boy discovers that his father’s first love never married, and lived in a timeless cottage just outside of town, and he brings his father and the woman together again, and they have a magical wedding in her lavender garden… Anne-girl, this is not the biased opinion of one who loves you - this is just the truth: You _must_ write it down. Make a book of it. Send it to a magazine. Something. Anything.

I loved getting to hear so many of your real-life stories as I rested in my hospital bed, too -- the _romantical_ history of The Story Club, followed by its untimely demise; the tale of Aunt Josephine and Gertrude and the yearly gathering of sunshine and artists each winter; the story of your first day at Green Gables, and then hearing that you very nearly became a slave to the horrid Bluett family (my heart still hasn’t quite recovered from this one); the tale of the search for your parents (I’m not sure I’ve recovered from this one, either. If only I had asked, if only you had explained. If only…); the story of Avonlea’s (Almost) Gold Rush, and the way you were _hog tied and gagged_ by the villains behind that scheme (I will _never_ get over this tale)... 

You should write them _all_ down. Your gift for storytelling cannot be denied, my darling. 

This week proved something else to me -- whatever kind of tale you are spinning, I believe I could listen to you talk forever. It was the same this week as it was the first day we met, when you recited poetry with so much passion and conviction. Getting to hear so many of your stories has made you more real to me than ever before, and even more incredible. Have I mentioned that I am outrageously in love with you? 

  
  


My only regret from this week is that I was unable to squire you around Toronto and show you all of my favorite places. What a joy it would have been to tour my little world here with you on my arm -- though I suppose I should just be grateful at all of the little glimpses into my daily life here you _did_ experience. 

For instance, I am most immensely gratified that you hit it off so well with the other women in my life. From the way she tells it, you and Rebecca Dew are as close as two women could be, and she counts you as a dear friend. By the way, I am meant to invite you back for a longer stay this summer, though Rebecca Dew _did_ say she planned to extend the invitation more formally in her next missive to you. Has she really been writing? I admit myself _extremely_ curious as to the contents of that correspondence… 

I had thought to box up a few of her incredible scones and send them along with this letter, but RD hinted darkly to me that if I didn’t eat every scone at the table, there would be severe consequences. She is quite menacing when she wants to be! And she seems much preoccupied by getting me to regain those pounds I lost, and quickly. 

As for Dr. Oak - _Christine_ , as you now call her - I had a meeting with her this morning to bring me abreast of what I missed during my illness, and she told me how delighted she was to meet you when you went to collect my assignments. You didn’t tell me that you two got coffee and pastries on the tour of the campus she took you on? Or that you told her a story so funny that she nearly choked to death on said coffee!? Though I suppose that I should be surprised by neither of those things. 

She refused to tell me the story, so I have to assume that she is being polite in not repeating whatever (likely highly embarrassing) tale you told her about me. I may very well wind up _back_ in the hospital, this time dying of curiosity. 

And if the curiosity doesn’t get me, then one of these days I just might choke to death myself on this smug feeling of pride that overwhelms me every time I think of the fact that somehow I have tricked Anne Shirley-Cuthbert into loving me back. 

Alas, I am afraid that I must put down this letter and pick up a book. I am certain that we both have mountains of work before us (have I thanked you yet for coming halfway across Canada to nurse me back to health? What’s that? Only a million times? Well, we will just call this one-million-one, then), and if I am going to make it to Charlottetown in just over two weeks time for Jo’s _Winter_ _Soirée_ , then I had better bury my nose in this mountain of work and not reappear until I see you again in Charlottetown. 

I will be true to my word and also get plenty of fresh air and an extra helping of good food each day, too - though I am quite chagrined that you shared this particular promise with _mother_ Rebecca Dew, who has already knocked on my door _twice_ as I have written this to offer me refreshment. It is sure to be a _very_ long two weeks, between my work load and RD’s - ahem - attentions. 

Is it strange to admit that two weeks might as well be a lifetime away, with the way I have already sorely missed you in the last twenty-four hours? 

I cannot wait to see you again, Dryad -- and _soon_ . I only hope that, when we meet again, you will know me (you _did_ say that masks are mandatory for the masquerade theme, did you not?) -- if at first you don’t recognize me, then look for a pair of brown eyes that burn with love and longing for you in each glance...or perhaps watch for the boy who is drawn to you like your magnetic polar opposite. 

We both know that I’m not sure I’m cut out for playing the role of _Debonair Man of Mystery_ if it means losing a second by your side. 

With Love from Your Impatient Patient, 

Gil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gil is back at it, y'all!! Our poor BB is tired and recuperating and he is somehow still. a. love. sick. fool. 
> 
> I am sorry this chapter took extra long to come out - I can't lie, with Corona hitting the US my anxiety decided to take the wheel there for a minute. In fact, I literally had NO IDEA that it has been over two weeks since my last update until I went to post this today! I’m sorry, y’all  
> I'm taking things here one day at a time, but I am so so so glad to be back at writing - I have started two new Anne fics that I am hoping to share as soon as I have finished this one! Writing for you lovely Anne-girls is the best kind of therapy, and I hope that you are all well and healthy. Please take care of you!! And if you're having a rough go of things, too, please reach out! I am on Tumblr and Twitter and I care about you all so much!! Thank you for reading and commenting and being the most wonderful. 
> 
> BTW - THE NEXT CHAPTER IS THE SOIREEEEE!!! I'm switching out of letters for the next little bit - I hope that's okay with y'all! Let me know what you're dying to see happen! xoxo  
> M


	5. A Part of All That I Have Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> Jerry stood mutely in the doorway, looking back and forth between the two young men, then threw his hands in the air in an exasperated gesture. “Why do you both look normal and I… my… look at this!” 
> 
> Jerry held out a lace-ruffled piece of cloth that had Gilbert cocking his head to one side in confusion. “What--”
> 
> Cole interrupted Gilbert, walking quickly to Jerry’s side and taking the offending piece of cloth from Jerry. “It’s a cravat, you cretin. Please remain calm - both of you. My full artistic vision will be realized once you have seen your dates for this evening. Trust me.”  
> *****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT’S SOIRÉE TIME!!!  
> Switching back into third person narrative from here until the end of the story.  
> Put your gowns on, Queens.  
> Let’s do this.

Gilbert had truly never imagined anything like the scene before him. From the entryway of the grand estate he could see down a long hallway and into a blindingly magnificent scene of tables and flowers and fabrics. He was only made aware of the fact that he stood open-mouthed and staring in the middle of the grand foyer of Josephine Barry’s grand home when he heard someone nearby titter. It was Cole, laughing at Gilbert’s awestruck expression and sweeping past the stoic butler to take Gilbert’s small bag and bound up the stairs, practically bouncing on each step, kinetic energy radiating from him in waves. 

At the top of the stairs, Cole waited to take Gilbert’s arm in a friendly gesture that pleasantly surprised Gilbert as the tall, willowy boy ushered him down the hallway, informing him as they walked that Anne and Diana had arrived just an hour beforehand and were holed up in Jo’s room, finishing their looks for their grand entrance to the fete that evening. Cole had an easy, affable manner about him, and in Gilbert’s brief dealings with him prior to this point, he could not recall him ever looking quite so confident and at-ease. 

Cole swept him quickly forward, scarcely pausing for breath as he chattered about caterers and guests and artists slated to perform that evening, leaving Gilbert very little room to ruminate over his surroundings or the coming event, about which he was incredibly nervous -- loathe as he was to admit it, even if only to himself. The grandest party Gilbert had ever been to was held in an empty barn after the county fair, and the staircase leading off of the entryway to this home already made that dance seem like a backwoods picnic in comparison. 

Cole escorted Gilbert into a spacious guest room with a grand wave of his hand. “Here’s your room for the weekend! I’m across the hall, and Jerry is next-door.” Cole placed the bag he had taken from Gilbert down on the bed, and turned to face his guest with a bright smile. 

“Anne and Diana have asked me to entertain you until the party begins, so if you need anything please let me know. Are you hungry? Thirsty? In need of advice on your ensemble for this evening?  _ Please _ say yes to that last one, at least.” Cole’s smile was teasing, and Gilbert had to laugh. They both knew that Gilbert was at Cole’s mercy regarding his  _ ensemble _ for the evening - something that Anne had assured Gilbert would be for the best. Gilbert still hadn’t caught his breath from the whirlwind welcome he had just been given, but he felt a deep appreciation for Cole’s easy mien, and struggled to gather his wits so he could reply in kind. 

“I would never turn down the aid of your artistic eye - I certainly don’t want to stick out tonight.” Gilbert’s smile turned teasing as he added quickly, “Plus, it would be terrible if we both showed up in the same outfit. Better to compare suit coats before we commit a fashion faux pas, eh?” 

Cole’s laugh was light as he shook his head. “I highly doubt that you brought a custom peacock-blue suit for this evening, but I suppose I’m not willing to take that chance, now that you mention it.” 

They both chuckled, and then turned as they heard a door in the hallway open. Jerry appeared a moment later, smiling welcome to Gilbert and reaching out to shake his hand. Jerry had grown impossibly taller since Gilbert had last stood next to him, matching Cole’s height, but whereas the young artist’s height was offset by long, graceful limbs, the farm hand’s stature was broad-shouldered and lean muscled. 

“ _ Bonjour _ ,” Jerry reached out a hand to Gilbert, shaking once. “I see Anne is ‘iding from you, too.” The Acadian’s accent was faint, and he smiled as he said the words. 

“Jerry, for heaven’s sake. They aren’t  _ hiding _ ! They are  _ making an entrance _ . There is a difference.” Cole fired back immediately, causing Jerry’s smile to deepen. 

“Oh,  _ oui, oui _ . So you said,” Jerry winked at Gilbert, letting him in on the joke, and Gilbert realized with another start that Jerry, too, had an easy, familiar air about him. It made Gilbert wonder just what the women in these three men’s lives had told them about one another. 

Gilbert found that he was incredibly grateful for whatever it was that seemed to have created an instant bond between the three of them. He had been woefully short of close male friendships since his father became ill, outside of the bond he had formed with Bash. Anne would call it a dearth of  _ kindred spirits _ in his life, and Gilbert would have to agree. Though he enjoyed studying with his cohort at school, he hadn’t made any deep connections in Toronto with his fellow medical students.  _ In their defense _ , Gilbert thought to himself,  _ it’s probably you, not them. You  _ have _ been a little distracted lately _ . 

Cole invited his guests into his room, then went to fetch them some tea and refreshments. Gilbert and Jerry sat in plush armchairs near a low, round table, and chatted about their journeys and recent goings-on. Gilbert found himself suddenly very curious as to Jerry’s relationship with Diana, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Instead Gilbert asked how things on the farm were going, and Jerry told him about a correspondence course for working youth that he was taking through a school in Nova Scotia. 

“That’s wonderful!” Gilbert enthused. “I have never heard of such a thing, but it’s a wonderful idea! Did your parents help you find the course? Or Ms. Stacy?” 

Jerry laughed once, shaking his head. “ _ Non _ , it was Anne, of course. She is always trying to teach me something. She ‘asn’t stopped pestering me about my education since the day we met, I think.” 

Gilbert grinned, imagining how Anne’s knack for passionately supporting her friends extended to seeking out educational opportunities for Jerry, whom she had spoken of fondly on multiple occasions as a sort of obnoxiously loveable little brother. His heart swelled at how  _ good _ she was, this girl he loved, and the sudden urge to leap from his chair and begin calling out her name in search of her took him off-guard. Thankfully Cole returned just then, carrying a tray and humming to himself.

While they drank tea and ate sandwiches, Cole regaled his guests with more tales of party preparations and peppered them each with questions about their travels and studies and plans in turn. Gilbert was sorely tempted to confide in his companions the news that was beating out a sharp drumbeat against his chest, but he knew he couldn’t tell them first, however good it would feel to get it off of his chest. He needed Anne to be the first to hear his news. 

An hour passed too quickly, and then Cole was rising and telling them it was high time they all got dressed for the party. As he walked them into the hallway, Cole pointed a finger at them each in turn, warning, “I have laid out your things in your rooms. As soon as I am dressed, I am coming to inspect you both. If you need anything, please let me know. It’s going to be a fantastic night, and I want you both looking your very best!”

Gilbert wanted to laugh, but the serious, almost-threatening tone of Cole’s speech made Gilbert force a solemn nod instead. 

_____

“Diana, how can you wring your hands and pace around so when you look so incredibly beautiful that my heart might break just from looking at you?!” Anne crossed the room to her friend and took her hands, looking deeply into her eyes. “You are stunning, and it’s going to be a perfect evening. I promise.” 

Diana let out a shaky breath, opened her mouth to reply, thought better of it, and closed it again, nodding once instead. 

“Now help me get this dress on. I still cannot believe you talked me into wearing  _ this _ ! I brought my new green and gold gown - are you certain I shouldn’t wear it instead?” Anne was trying to distract her friend, but she suddenly found that she was the one worrying as she gazed doubtfully at the cream and deep-gold gown hanging before her. 

“Don’t be silly, Anne-girl!” Aunt Josephine marched imperiously into the room, wearing a floor-length, deep red gown trimmed in black. “You two young ladies are going to be the talk of the gala!” She smiled fondly at Diana, who was already laced into her pale blue, Marie Antoinette-inspired gown. 

Anne smiled in spite of her fears - her own gown was in a style she had never worn before, but Jeannie had designed it with this masquerade ball in mind, and promised that it was cut in the latest silhouettes from the streets of Paris. 

The gown was sleeveless, and the neck was low in the front, making a wide downward arc from the outer-edges of her collar bones down to the center of her breast bone. It fit Anne’s torso, then draped outward from her waist all of the way to the floor, hiding the golden slippers Anne would wear on her feet. The details on the gown were Anne’s favorite feature - the cream of the gown trimmed with leaves and branches in deep gold, while small, gauzy butterflies sewn to the neckline and hem of the gown glittered in golden tulle. She knew from her fitting that the gown made her feel monarchical, like the blazing hair plaited atop her head was a crown instead of a curse. 

Cole had fixed her hair just after lunch, braiding back sections of it and crossing them behind her head. He finished it off with a woven gold hairband, kissing her cheek emphatically and declaring her a Grecian Goddess. Anne had blushed deeply, imagining Gilbert’s reaction to the finished product, should she have the nerve to actually wear the finished outfit out of Aunt Jo’s dressing room. 

Anne lifted her arms and Josephine and Diana gingerly lifted the gown over her corseted form, not allowing Anne to turn around and look into the cheval mirror until she was fastened and draped and perfected. Anne took a deep breath before slowly turning to face her fear, but when she beheld her reflection, she couldn’t help the slow smile that spread across her face, nor the tears that sprang into her eyes. 

“I… I’m…” Anne faltered, reaching her cold hands to cool her blushing cheeks. 

“You’re  _ stunning _ ,” Aunt Josephine declared matter-of-factly. 

“Oh, Anne,” Diana added, reaching up to touch her friend’s pale shoulder. 

“I feel like the heroine of a fairy tale - a princess about to attend the ball. Oh,  _ thank you _ . I love you both,” Anne turned her watery gaze on her companions, squeezing each of their hands as her tears spilled over. 

“Oh, stop that, now! You’re going to make me cry! And this is no time for that - it’s a celebration! Do you need help with your masks?” Aunt Jo patted each young woman on their cheek fondly, then turned to retrieve her black mask, trimmed across the brow in beautiful black feathers. 

Diana paled, her hands shaking slightly as she gripped them in front of her once more. “Aunt Jo, do you… is it wrong for a woman to be the one to… if I have feelings for a boy, would it be terribly  _ gauche  _ if I told him so?”

Aunt Josephine turned back, kind eyes shining at her niece through her mask. “Well, in my experience, those who abide by all of society’s rules may never know true love - Gertrude and I could never have shared our lives, at least, if we worried about what others might think!” She chuckled to herself, then continued, “Dear Diana, if you follow your heart, no matter the consequence, you will find yourself without regrets when you are my age. I can think of no greater achievement.” 

Anne witnessed this exchange thoughtfully, mulling over a similar question that had plagued her since Christmastime, and she squared her shoulders against her fears - willing herself to take Josephine’s sage advice to heart. 

A knock sounded at the door, and Rollings’ voice sounded from the hallway, announcing that it was time to head downstairs. Josephine assisted the girls in tying on their masks quickly, then they all took one last deep breath, and, after reaching out to squeeze each other’s hands once more, exited the room. 

_____

Gilbert had never worn a tuxedo before. He had, quite embarrassingly, had to call Cole in to help him more than once, in fitting and fastening all of the pieces together. Rollings had even answered one of his calls for assistance, re-creasing the front of Gilbert’s black trousers and tying his bowtie for him after Gilbert’s failed attempt. 

“Cole?” Gilbert was frustrated to hear the slight nervous quiver in his voice as he called for the attention of the boy next to him. “It’s… You’re sure it’s supposed to be… gold?” Gilbert was eyeing his rich golden vest as it caught the light above him, and he fingered the matching gold bowtie, an incredulous expression on his face. 

Cole laughed loudly at Gilbert’s wariness, then turned toward the bureau. When he turned back to Gilbert, Cole was holding a dull-gold mask. The mask was undoubtedly masculine, made to cover a larger portion of the face than the delicate masks Gilbert had associated with masquerade balls, and it was embellished with familiar elements - the shape of leaves and branches raised along the outer border, following along the brow line, and, in the center the branches came together to meet the small carved figure of a butterfly. 

Cole walked behind Gilbert and lifted his arms to fasten the mask carefully to Gilbert’s face, then he tied the black ribbons hanging from it snugly behind his head. Circling him once with an appraising eye, Cole reached up to muss the top of Gilbert’s head quickly, then smiled broadly. 

“Anne is going to  _ love  _ this!  _ Oh. _ I’m a genius.” Cole congratulated himself happily, needing no such compliments from the anxious man across from him. 

Gilbert turned to view the finished look in the large, oval mirror, and found he couldn’t help but grin. “You really are.” 

“ _ Cole _ ,” Gilbert and Cole turned to find Jerry standing in the doorway, dressed in loose, short dress pants, his lower legs covered in white knee-socks, eyeing Gilbert’s Eduardian creased black trousers and tuxedo jacket skeptically. Jerry had on a fitted dress coat that was shorter than Gilbert’s tuxedo tails, and the shirt beneath was tie-less and softer, looser-fitting than the other two men wore. Jerry’s eyes then turned to Cole, slowly taking in his brilliant turquoise tuxedo pants and jacket, accented by the deep purple vest and tie. 

Jerry stood mutely in the doorway, looking back and forth between the two young men, then threw his hands in the air in an exasperated gesture. “Why do you both look normal and I… my… _look_ _at this_!” 

Jerry held out a lace-ruffled piece of cloth that had Gilbert cocking his head to one side in confusion. “ _ What-- _ ”

Cole interrupted Gilbert, walking quickly to Jerry’s side and taking the offending piece of cloth from Jerry. “It’s a  _ cravat _ , you cretin. Please remain calm - both of you. My full artistic vision will be realized once you have seen your dates for this evening. Trust me.” 

Gilbert and Jerry exchanged wide-eyed looks, then Jerry gulped like he was swallowing any number of large objects that had suddenly appeared in his throat. “ _ Date? _ ” His voice squeaked as the word came out. 

Here Gilbert and Cole exchanged a glance, and then Cole wrapped his arms briefly around Jerry’s neck, securing the voluminous cravat around Jerry’s neck and tucking it’s strap under Jerry’s collar. 

“Jerry… do you… are you and Diana truly to remain friends only?” Cole’s voice was quiet, and he stared fixedly at the neck adornment he was adjusting for volume. “Because,” Cole added quickly, before Jerry could muster more than a stunned expression. “If that’s how you feel - and you have every right to feel that way - but… if that’s how you feel, perhaps you could…  _ not _ … be her friend… at least for a little while. Give her time...You know - to move on.” 

The last part was so quiet that Gilbert wasn’t sure whether he had heard him correctly, but, as he glanced up at Jerry’s reddening cheeks, Gilbert was glad Cole had spoken up. Knowing the pain of unrequited love, even if it all had turned out to be a misunderstanding, made Gilbert anxious that Diana not be subjected to any more pain than was strictly necessary, should Jerry truly not return her obvious regard for him. 

A knock at the door caused the three men to start, and Rollings’ deep voice announced the beginning of the  soirée. Cole quickly grabbed his mask - a riot of purples, greens and blues, trimmed in peacock feathers - and looked around at his companions. Gilbert grabbed Jerry’s light blue brocade mask from the bureau and gestured that Jerry turn around so he could help him tie it. Gilbert’s heart was pounding, and he didn’t know if it was anxiety or expectation that made him feel suddenly lightheaded. 

A barking laugh from his left caused Gilbert and Jerry to start once more, and they both turned to see Cole mirthfully regarding them. “If you both didn’t look so handsome, I would guess that you were headed to a  _ funeral _ , not the biggest party of the year!” 

Gilbert rolled his shoulders, trying to relax his body and calm his nerves. At his right shoulder, he felt Jerry take a slow, deep breath in. 

“Ready?” Cole asked. Gilbert reached up to adjust his mask unnecessarily, then copied Jerry’s deep breath and forced a smile to his lips. 

“Ready.” 

_____

Anne descended the staircase feeling every bit the fairy tale princess of her wildest dreams, the hem of her gown dragging behind her like a train. She lifted her chin and tried to appear regal, telling herself that she was the heroine of her story, and, as such, that she needn’t worry about the eyes she felt upon her. She kept her focus soft and distant, praying with every step that she wouldn’t trip. 

As soon as she had made it down the stairs in one piece, her self-conscious reminders were no longer necessary - not because of any innate grace she possessed, but because her surroundings soon possessed  _ her _ as her senses were accosted by the sights and sounds and scents of Jo’s transformed great room.

Everywhere she looked there were beautifully-dressed party-goers in masks and gowns and suits, all in different and rich fabrics and patterns and designs. The high ceilings were draped in fabrics of cream and black and deep red, creating a drop-ceiling of tulle and silk and satin. There were arrangements of flowers on the tables, and hand-braided vines of red roses were draped along the walls. 

A small orchestra was set up in a corner of the ballroom, and they played quietly as guests arrived. Anne could smell the fragrance of the flowers surrounding her mix with the smells of the long table that was laden with rich food and drink.

A press of people had led her forward, and she dazedly walked into the eye of the beautiful storm surrounding her, losing sight of Diana and Aunt Jo in her wonderment. It took her more than a few minutes of absorbing all of the splendor before Anne remembered herself, and began to look into the faces of the party-goers, hoping to find her friends. A tremulous feeling bloomed in her stomach and spread out to her extremities as she thought of Gilbert - as she imagined him seeing her in this dress; imagined the close press of their bodies, waltzing around the great tiled floor; imagined his lips at her ear, telling her how desperately he loved her. 

Anne crossed her arms across her body, rubbing briskly at her upper-arms with her hands to chase away the goosebumps that her imagination had brought to life. She spun in place slowly, hoping to spot the bright turquoise she knew Cole was wearing in hopes that he could lead her to where she was suddenly desperate to be. 

All she saw as she slowly orbited the great room, however, was a sea of masked, smiling faces, none of them familiar. She had just decided to head toward the entryway to get a better vantage point when she felt a warm hand fall onto her shoulder and caress her bare skin there. She spun around, a broad, welcoming smile already on her lips, as she looked up into the shining blue eyes of Royal Gardner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a ClIfFhAnGeR?!?!! tHe NeRvE.  
> 😜😘💞💞
> 
> Find me on Tumblr to see pics of my inspiration for the dresses!


	6. To Look at was Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> Anne. Gilbert spotted a glint of red-gold through the crowd, and he stepped away from his companions without looking back to see if they noticed his departure. The red he had spied wasn’t the rich rose-red all around, nor the bright, vibrant red of masks and gowns and top hats peppered throughout the room. 
> 
> Gilbert knew this red, and he would follow it anywhere, which is how he found himself in the center of the black and white tiled floor of the ballroom.  
> *****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all, my friend Jenni ILLUSTRATED A SCENE from this chapter and it is honestly so beautiful and steamy and amazing!  
> You can buy her a cup of coffee at [her KO-FI page](https://ko-fi.com/lovelyrugbee) to see all of her amazing, hawt Shirbert art!!

Gilbert was blown away by what he was seeing - the crowd of men and women dressed in costumes and finery, some wearing traditional party garb, others in outfits of their own design, some even dressed in clothes that defied the traditional roles men and women usually were confined to when it came to dress. He marveled at all of it, wondering at how many new sights and ideas could be found on his island home; that this place still had the ability to surprise, delight, and inspire him. 

But he was more than a little frustrated by what he had  _ yet  _ to see. From the moment he, Cole, and Jerry had come downstairs he had stuck close to them, hoping that they would keep him from being swallowed in the strange but beautiful crowd. Hoping, too, that the three of them would easily find the only people he knew would be there - Josephine, whom Gilbert had yet to meet, Diana, and…

_ Anne. _ Gilbert spotted a glint of red-gold through the crowd, and he stepped away from his companions without looking back to see if they noticed his departure. The red he had spied wasn’t the rich rose-red all around, nor the bright, vibrant red of masks and gowns and top hats peppered throughout the room. 

Gilbert  _ knew  _ this red, and he would follow it anywhere, which is how he found himself in the center of the black and white tiled floor of the ballroom. 

She was facing him, but she had yet to notice his approach. Gilbert’s steady progress toward her was brought to an abrupt halt as he drew close enough to see her clearly - to see all of her. 

Anne’s hair was pulled back into an intricate updo, with a few loose curls pulled from the design to frame her face, her head haloed with a braided gold band. She wore a thin gold filigree mask that traced a lacework pattern over her skin and made her eyes look somehow even brighter than usual. The combined effect of red and cream and gold lent her an ethereal beauty so exquisite that Gilbert felt it as a sharp pain in his chest. 

After a moment of drinking her in, his eyes wandered from her face to take in the pale, freckled expanse of her throat, the way that her gown clung to her torso, outlined her soft curves, then draped from her hips to the floor. Her slim, bare shoulders made his heartbeat stutter, as did the soft swell of her chest peeking out from the neckline of her gown, and he found that his breathing had stopped along with his forward momentum. He forced himself to draw breath, the feeling foreign to him somehow, and then to begin naming the bones of her torso in his mind to keep his thoughts from roaming too far from where propriety demand they remain. 

Somewhere between the clavicle vertebrae and the sternum, awareness of the figure standing in front of Anne dawned, and Gilbert found himself moving forward once more, leaving his stupor behind him. He searched Anne’s face as the details his subconscious had collected while he stood still, stunned by her beauty, slowly filtered into his mind. Her brows were pinched tight together, her lips in a hard, thin line. Those beautiful, pale shoulders were hunched up, and her arms were crossed rigidly over her chest. 

Gilbert’s pace slowed again as he approached Anne and the tall blonde man across from her, their voices reaching him over the din as he came closer. 

“What are you doing here?” Anne’s words were clipped, as though she loathed having to speak them; having to speak at all. 

“Jane and Josie invited me,” the smug male voice replied. Gilbert could almost see the self-satisfied sneer the haughty face would wear, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

“You’re not welcome here,  _ Royal _ .” Gilbert could hear that the name tasted bitter in Anne’s mouth - the way she spit it at him - and Gilbert’s hands curled themselves into fists. 

“Leave now, before I have you escorted away.” Coldness drenched her every syllable, her voice stronger than before, louder. Her fierce eyes never left the man’s face as she spoke. 

Royal’s hands shot out to grip Anne’s upper arms, squeezing hard into her flesh as he stepped closer to her, his voice lowering. He wasn’t sneering as Gilbert had imagined, though. His eyes bore into Anne’s with a sort of pleading desperation. His voice was low but passionate, begging brokenly. His grip on her turned her skin white around the edges of his fingertips, and Gilbert knew that when his hand drew away their imprint would remain in angry marks on her pale skin. Gilbert seemed to register all of this in slow motion - watching Roy grab Anne, hearing his hushed pleadings, while Gilbert’s feet propelled him forward. 

“Anne, don’t be this way. You  _ wanted  _ it -  _ wanted  _ me to kiss you - you  _ know _ you did. You only got cold feet when your  _ boyfriend _ showed up, but you were practically  _ begging  _ for--”

Roy’s sneering face turned when he felt the hard tap on his shoulder, and then he was reeling backward, his hands flying up to grip his nose, where Gilbert’s fist had just struck him, the loud  _ snap _ drawing the attention of the crowd around them. Royal spluttered, a rivulet of blood running down his nose and onto his lips. 

“She asked you to leave,” Gilbert’s voice was low, dangerous. He stepped close to Anne, then - protectively positioning himself between her and Royal. His heart hammered against his chest, but outwardly he was deadly calm, staring down his opponent with a coolness that belied the blood boiling in his veins.

Gilbert had been in plenty of dust-ups growing up. Some of them happened the way that puppies often scrap with their siblings, growling and tearing with playful determination, without menace; others happened with flying fists and clenched jaws and oaths spat through ground teeth. But never before had he found himself so collected as white-hot rage coursed through him. His hands did not shake, his breaths did not quicken - the tight fists hanging ready at his sides were the only indication of his sudden strop. 

Roy stood stunned, one hand on his nose protectively, as he turned watering, petulant, eyes on Gilbert. He took a step backward and found that there was a close-press of people who were now listening and watching their group, then stood a little taller. After a moment of staring at Gilbert, his eyes returned to Anne’s, the expression turning hard and haughty.

“I can’t  _ believe _ I ever entertained the idea of accepting your advances - the upstart attentions of a pathetic orphan  _ nobody…”  _

Gilbert’s face flooded with heat, his vision tinged red. He took a decisive step forward, but felt two hands on his arms attempting to stay his advance. He turned his head to find that Cole and Jerry  _ had  _ followed him, and now stood at his elbows, their hard expressions fixed on Royal Gardner. Gilbert turned his attention back to Roy in time to see the boy’s face pale around the bright red blood streaming from his now uncovered nose. Royal’s throat convulsed, then he cleared it quietly, returning his sneer to Anne. Gilbert could see that Royal was taking confidence in the number of witnesses around him, trusting that their presence assured his safety, and it made Gilbert’s hands shake with repressed rage. 

“I only ever tried to be your friend, and it’s  _ shameful _ , the way you fawned over me, Anne. You needn’t have made such a fool of yourself. You ought to have known. After all, who could ever care for a  _ scrawny _ , red-headed  _ wretch  _ like--” Roy broke off quickly, his eyes widening. 

Gilbert had been halted in taking a step forward once again, feeling someone brush between him and Jerry’s elbows. He saw red once more, but this time it was a blur of red and gold as Anne swept past him, surging toward Roy and slapping him once, hard, across the face. 

“We both know what really happened, Royal Gardner.” Her voice quavered, but it gained both volume and strength as she continued. “How you tried to-- to  _ force _ yourself upon me. You are not a good man, and… and…  _ and you should never attempt to quote poetry again _ ! You never get it right, and you sound like a fool! Now...  _ leave _ .” 

Anne’s chest was rising and falling quickly, and Roy stood completely frozen in shock, his arms tensed in front of him. Jerry and Cole seized the opportunity to grab each of his elbows and frogmarch him out of the room. The party around them had grown so still and silent that Gilbert could hear the low, angry oaths Jerry was slinging at Royal in French under his breath as they approached the foyer. Gilbert knew  _ just  _ enough French to feel a smug sense of gratitude that Anne had such friends. 

But still, he longed to follow them - to follow Royal Gardner out into the cold, snowy night and do more to that condescending, entitled cretin than just send him home. 

But he didn’t follow - knew he couldn’t; that it wasn’t where he needed to be. He stood rooted to the spot along with the crowd around him, and by the time he had worked through his jumbled, adrenaline-fueled thoughts the crowd was beginning to chatter around him, the noise swelling from nothing and reminding Gilbert of the sound of swarming bees. 

At last he quickly swept forward, gently placing his hands on Anne’s bare shoulders and turning her to face him. He locked eyes with her, searching her expression for any sign of hurt that the boy she had once considered a friend may have caused, but he found only fury blazing there; chest heaving, hands shaking. The orchestra began to play once more, and the party seemed to resume in full around them as they stood close together. 

Another moment passed and still Anne hadn’t moved, so Gilbert slowly trailed his hands from her shoulders down to her wrists, then he took her hands gently in his and brought their backs up to his lips with a sweet, soft kiss, his eyes never leaving hers. At the press of his lips on her flesh, Anne closed her eyes and began to slow her breaths. When she opened them again, the anger had faded somewhat, and in its place Gilbert found…  _ chagrin _ ?  _ That couldn’t possibly be it _ , Gilbert thought. 

Then the corners of her lips turned up at the edges, and she reversed their grip so that she was holding his hands, and, without breaking eye contact with him, brought his knuckles to her lips. 

“Who knew the good doctor could throw a punch?” Her thumb caressed the back of his right hand’s knuckles, and her voice nearly achieved a lighthearted, teasing tone, but it shook a little at the end, and Gilbert wasn’t fooled. 

But he smirked faintly at her anyway, and his features softened as relief brought on by touching her coursed through him. She was his. “If you think that was good, remind me to tell you about the time that I clouted Billy Andrews for insulting you.” 

Anne’s eyes grew wide with disbelief, her mouth popping open slightly, and Gilbert smiled in earnest, the expression reaching up to touch his eyes. 

_____

Falling from the highest height - the heroine of her very own romance story, the beautiful princess awakened from a long and fitful slumber to the kiss of the prince and the happily ever after she had always longed for - to the lowest low - as the wretched, ugly, unlovable orphan, humiliated and alone - didn’t give Anne that swooping flush in the pit of her stomach that an actual fall would have caused. Instead the descent left her feeling cold and empty, like her bright spirit had retreated into some secret, secure cavern of her heart while her body was left behind, floundering for meaning or escape or some way to reunite body and soul; to find a way to move past the pain as she had so, so many times before. 

But this time was different. She had never plummeted from such a height before, and some part of her feared that this would be the fall that broke her spirit. That would leave her cold and empty for good. 

And that fear made Anne  _ furious _ . 

_ How dare  _ that boy come here?  _ How dare  _ he try to take away her peace and her fairy tale and her fire? She may be  _ nobody _ \- a scrawny orphan wretch, like he had said - but  _ he _ was… he was  _ pathetic _ . 

Anne knew it, and now so did everyone around them. Her hands shook and her fingers curled as she remembered the satisfying sound it had made when she had slapped him. If only she had curled her fingers then - used her nails to claw and rake and tear away his bravado. 

Anne’s fury rolled through her again like an earthquake, her eyes fixed on nothing in front of her, as the hot anger shook loose her spirit and scorched away the emptiness. The idea that someone so inconsequential could make her feel so lost, even if only for a moment, was unendurable. 

She knew who she was; what she was worth. The thought occurred that perhaps her terrible temper served a higher purpose than she had ever realized before. Perhaps it played nearly as large a role in her ability to overcome as she had always known her imagination did. 

As she considered this revelation, her mind distantly registered that her skin had prickled at some new sensation, and the adrenaline coursing through her demanded that she search out foe; prepare for attack. But then her eyes focused in on the warm brown something that she had been staring into, registering for the first time where she was, and whose gaze she held. 

Gilbert Blythe was running his soft, warm fingertips down the length of her cold, hollow arms, spreading warmth and life, encouraging her back into her body. Her eyes came into focus on his hands just as they gripped hers, then brought them to his full lips. Anne felt her heart kick hard once, and she closed her eyes as the warmth from Gilbert’s lips spread from her knuckles, down her arms and through her body. 

After an interminable moment, Anne opened her eyes to look at Gilbert once more. She was herself again, but the quaking aftermath of her anger left her feeling somewhat embarrassed as she wondered what Gilbert had seen in her eyes while she was first hollow, then burning. 

Anne mirrored his actions, gripping his hands and kissing their backs, smiling into his gorgeous, masked face and teasing him about throwing punches. His quick response caused her to freeze in shock, but before she could ask him what on earth he was talking about, he tucked her arm under his elbow and steered her away from the noise and press of the ballroom. She didn’t know where he was taking her, but neither did she care. Her mind was reeling, trying to catch up to all that had happened. 

When he took her into a room off of the main hallway, checking inside to ensure it was empty before leading her in and closing the door behind them, her thoughts were still swirling around the image of Billy Andrews’ obnoxious grin being wiped from his face with a loud, sharp  _ crack _ . 

Gilbert sat her down on a plush chaise, and sat himself on the ottoman in front of it, scooting close and taking her hands in his once more. His dark eyes burned into hers as he asked in a low voice, “Anne, are you okay? The things he said to you-- Anne, he is  _ so _ wrong, and I just--”

Anne reached out to grab his face, and pulled him toward her with all of her strength. Their lips crashed together with enough force to quiet the nauseating buzzing inside of Anne’s head and limbs, and a new kind of heat, so different from the anger of moments before, rushed in to replace it. 

Gilbert was pulled to the edge of his seat on the footstool, leaning toward her as far as he could without falling from his perch, but he wasn’t close enough. Anne needed his body pressed against hers - needed its comforting weight and warmth, its safety. 

She kept his face in her hands, their lips pressed hotly together, as she began to lean back in the long, plush seat, dragging him over her now-prone form. Her tongue pressed at the seam of his mouth, hot and insistent, and she felt a rumble in his chest, now pressed against hers, when he opened his lips to her with a moan.

His hands were placed on either side of her head now as he knelt next to her. She moved her hands to push his cumbersome mask up and off of his face, then her hands ran down his neck and onto his chest and over his stomach with desperate, searching need. As her tongue swept against his, Gilbert made another noise - a broken, jagged sound - and his hands moved to her neck. 

Anne’s lips moved from Gilbert’s down to his cheek, then his jaw, where she kissed and nipped at him. The delicate mask she wore pressed its pattern into the skin along her cheeks and nose, but she hardly noticed. Her heartbeat was pounding so loudly in her ears and all over her body that it drove out all thoughts - she could only feel her helpless need for him. 

“Anne--” Gilbert was panting, and his voice came out as ragged as his breathing. He tried again with a bit more volume. “Anne, we should--”

Anne scraped her teeth along his jaw. “Be with me,” she breathed onto his flushed skin, her lips still against his neck. “Gilbert,  _ please _ .” 

_____

It was the pleading note in her voice, the desperation of it, that broke any will left in Gilbert into a million tiny bits of need and heat. It drove all thoughts of time, place, and propriety out of Gilbert’s mind - drove away his need to make sure she was okay, his desire to dance and laugh with her, his eagerness to tell her his news, his fears for what the future may hold - all of it was nothing but smoke and vapor as he gave in to her exigency. 

He shifted his weight onto his knees, pulling all but their faces apart momentarily. Anne made a soft whine at the loss of contact, but it stopped when, in the next second, Gilbert moved his hands to her neck, then down the sloping angle onto her shoulders, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. 

“Anne,” Gilbert breathed just before his lips found hers again. He moved to gently angle her head back to the arm of the settee while he kissed a blazing trail down her jawline and onto the pulse point of her neck. He whispered her name against her throat again, then kissed down her neck to her collarbone. 

Anne’s head laid back, eyes closed, as Gilbert sucked and nipped at the delicate skin of her neck, and she gasped in pleasure, lost to words. His hands gripped her ribcage with his thumbs forward, and as he moved to kiss along the neckline of her dress, his thumbs swept upward, feeling the soft swell of her breast with his hands from beneath and with his lips from above. 

Gilbert had imagined this moment before now - had envisioned discovering all of Anne’s soft curves with hands and lips many, many times before. He had daydreamed about having days and hours alone with her to do just that, but never before had he considered what her reaction to his explorations would be. 

Anne’s back arched, pressing herself into his hands and lips, and her mouth opened in a quiet gasp. Her hands moved to his hair, and she carded his curls through her fingers, tugging gently, but in no way signalling that she wanted him to stop. Gilbert flattened his tongue against the skin along the neckline of her dress, tasting the sweet, soft skin of her cleavage, then grazed the swell of her breast lightly with his teeth. 

At this Anne made a noise that reverberated through Gilbert’s entire body as she pulled on his hair once more, and this time he followed the motion. His lips crashed onto hers, and his body followed, his weight collapsing against hers as he pressed on top of her. 

He pulled back from their kiss to gasp against her lips, “I love you. Anne --  _ God  _ how I love you.” 

Her eyes opened and burned into his, her thumbs moving up to graze across his cheek. Her eyes glistened with tears, and Gilbert was suddenly brought back to the time and place. His pulse picked up speed somehow, though it was already racing in his chest, and he pushed himself back another inch to study her face. 

“Are you alright?” His voice was low, quiet through his panting breaths. He felt worry rise up in his throat -  _ had he taken advantage of her?  _ The thought poured ice water into his overheated veins. 

Then her face broke into a quivering, heartbreaking smile, and she nodded, the tears in her eyes overflowing onto her cheeks. 

“I’m so,  _ so _ much more than alright.” Her expression was happy, but her voice was choked. Her thumb stroked over his lips, and her breath hitched. 

Gilbert struggled to catch up to what could have made her cry  _ or _ smile that way. He stayed still for a long moment, studying her eyes. Before he could figure her state of mind, she pulled him in, gently this time, for a sweet, slow kiss. 

And then the door to the room burst open, and Gilbert shot up and away from Anne as though she had electrocuted him. 

“ _ Ah-ha _ !” Cole cried from the doorway, a huge smile settling over his features. Then he turned and called over his shoulder, “ _ Jo! I’ve found them _ !” 

_____

Anne quickly untied her mask and set it down next to her, sweeping gently under her eyes for any tears left there. She felt like she had lived a decade in the last hour, and she was left unsteady by the deluge of emotions warring for dominance inside of her. After standing up and taking two deep breaths, she had hope that joy may just win out. 

She could feel his eyes on her - the eyes of the boy who drove her crazy and loved her desperately and made her feel  _ so much _ \- and she felt her cheeks warm slightly. She brushed back her hair and smoothed her dress before she could bring herself to meet his gaze. His eyes were anxious, hands balled at his sides, shoulders hunched, and a sharp peal of laughter burst out of her before she could contain it. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling hugely at him. “I’m sorry. You just look so  _ guilty _ .” 

She reached both hands up to his, loosening their grip and threading their fingers together. “I’m okay,” she assured him quietly, leaning into him gently. “Are you?” 

He held her gaze, searching. He must have found what he had been looking for, because after a long moment he nodded, smiling back at her. 

Cole returned then, sweeping into the room with Aunt Josephine on his heels. 

“Anne, dear, are you alright? I’ve heard all about that horrid boy coming here and making a scene at  _ my _ party! I simply cannot believe the nerve…” Aunt Josephine stopped just in front of the couple, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed Anne. 

Anne felt unperturbed by the reminder of Royal Gardner and his ugliness, and she grinned at her host. “Yes, Aunt Jo. I am perfectly alright.” 

Josephine nodded curtly, darting her eyes to study Gilbert next. 

“And you must be young Mr. Blythe. I have heard so much about you.” Jo’s voice boomed to fill the room, and Anne was sure that Gilbert was finding her to be just as imperious as Anne had found her at their first meeting. 

But Gilbert only smiled widely, reaching out a hand and enthusing, “Surely not as much as I have heard about you, Ms. Barry. Thank you so much for inviting me this evening. Your home is…” words failed him, but Josephine Barry just smiled up at him. 

“You are most welcome, young man. Any friend of Anne’s is a friend of mine. But before you charm me into liking you too much, let me tell you something,” Jo leaned forward, pressing a slim, aged finger into Gilbert’s chest lightly and lowering her voice as though it was just the two of them in the room. “I hope you know what you’ve got there, young man.” 

Her face was grave as she delivered her sentiment as a dire warning, but Gilbert did not shrink in the slightest. Instead, the reminder of his wealth seemed to fill his chest, making him stand more erect. 

“Trust me. I know.” Gilbert’s voice was quiet, but sincerity rang through it. 

Aunt Jo stood examining Gilbert’s face, and neither of them stirred for a long moment. And just as suddenly as it had come, the tension in the room evaporated. 

Josephine leaned back and clapped Gilbert on the arm. “Good! Good. Alright then, Anne-girl. It’s time you two joined the party!” Here she eyed them both, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Plus, I don’t want you to miss the cake. Or the dancing.  _ Or _ my toast, seeing as your recitation follows directly after it!” 

Josephine turned to bustle toward the still-open door, calling out, “Don’t dawdle or I’ll send Rollings to keep an eye on you both!”

Anne turned her guilty grin up to Gilbert. “I told you she was wonderful, didn’t I?” 

He smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “You did, and she is.” 

He leaned toward her, and for a moment Anne thought that he would kiss her again. Her heartbeat sped up at the thought. But instead he reached around her to where her mask lay on the chaise behind her. 

He lifted the fine, golden work between his fingers as Anne turned her back to him. He lifted his hands slowly, placing the mask gently on the bridge of her nose and tying it in place. He slid his hands from the back of her neck down to her shoulders, and turned her back to face him. Then she retrieved his from the floor, cheeks blazing as she realized that she had no recollection of how it got there, and returned the favor, smoothing down the back of his hair when she had finished. 

Anne smiled somewhat shyly as he turned back to her, then she took a deep breath and gestured toward the open doorway. “Shall we?” 

“Not yet,” Gilbert’s tone was serious, and Anne’s eyebrows furrowed in response. “I haven’t even said hello to you yet this evening…” 

Anne’s smile grew. “Of course,” she grinned. “How could I be so rude? Good evening, Dr. Blythe.” She dipped into a low curtsy as she greeted him, her eyes sparkling with mirth. 

Gilbert bowed slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Lovely to see you, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert.” 

Anne laughed lightly, grabbing his hand and turning for the door, but Gilbert spun her back toward him, catching her in his arms and pulling her close. 

“One more thing,” he breathed, dipping her backward slightly. 

“Yes?” 

“You look  _ stunning _ this evening, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert.” 

The blazing look in his eyes made her reply more breathless than she would have liked it to be. 

“You look quite dashing yourself, Dr. Blythe.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends!  
> sorry if things got a *little* hot in here for a minute there. 😉  
> i hope you liked this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it!  
> i slaved over every word because i am loathe to disappoint you - after sticking with me through 82,000+ words in this series so far!! 😅  
> i love you all so much - you are giving me life during this difficult time. i think of you all often and hope that you and your loved ones are doing well and staying safe and healthy!  
> i'm sorry i haven't responded to chapter comments yet - i promise i will get to it soon! i have spent every free moment writing this story for you instead - don't hate me and PLEASE keep the comments coming! and please, please share this if you’re enjoying it. you know by now how your support feeds my Shirbert-loving soul.  
> xoxoxo  
> M


	7. Drive me Mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> Did you notice the way his hands - such large hands they were, too! - caressed her face as though she were made of the finest porcelain? 
> 
> And then the boy just swooped at the poor girl! For a moment I thought she would faint, the way her knees seemed to give out!
> 
> That was certainly quite a kiss!  
> *****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely friends! I feel like we were FED today from Northwood acknowledging our existence, so I'm happy to add a lil covered dish to the AWAE potluck! 🤓  
> Speaking of being fed, my friend Jenni ILLUSTRATED A SCENE from the last chapter (YOU KNOW which scene (💋🔥🥵) and it is honestly so beautiful and steamy and amazing!  
> You can buy her a cup of coffee at [her KO-FI page](https://ko-fi.com/lovelyrugbee) to see all of her amazing, hawt Shirbert art!!  
> I'm sorry it has taken me a full week to update! I love y'all for telling me it's okay and to take my time and whatnot, but I swear I HATE making you wait! 
> 
> This is the penultimate chapter of the soiree- I have a plan for where we are going next, so buckle up! I love you all so much!

Anne re-joined the soiree feeling every bit the fairy tale princess once more. She found that touring the sights and sounds and smells of the boisterous party all around her immeasurably heightened - no doubt due in large part to the boy whose arm was wrapped around her waist, his hand pressed posessively into her hip. The brief unpleasantness with Royal had burned away all of her nervous excitement, leaving behind nothing but the sensation of floating a few inches off of the ground, in love with everything and everyone around her. 

She had begun to think that her imagination had embellished the memories she had of Aunt Jo’s last soiree - of the way that she felt like a different person just for having kept the company of Josephine’s incredible group of friends for the evening - but now she realized that, if anything, she had downplayed the effects of such stimulating company. Anne’s fingers buzzed as she took in the avant garde fashions and artistic talents on display all around her - the urge to create something growing stronger within her by the minute. 

She and Gilbert were stopped everywhere they went by friendly, curious faces - many of Jo’s guests had recognized Anne from the year previous, and she felt her cheeks warm again and again under the weight of so many kind compliments to both her attire  _ and _ her date. The weight of Gilbert’s hand on her, the warmth of his side pressing close to hers, kept Anne from drifting away entirely in rapture of the lovely, dreamlike quality the evening had begun to possess. 

After they had circled the party once, Gilbert squeezed her lightly, turning her to face him as he smiled hugely down at her. “Anne, I have the most exciting news, and I--”

He was cut off by the sound of Rollings announcing that the concert portion of the evening was beginning, asking everyone to please take their seats. Gilbert’s mouth closed with a snap, but his eyes sparkled happily down at her. “Later,” he promised. 

Anne’s brow furrowed, her imagination running wildly away with wondering what his news could possibly be --  _ An award at school? A breakthrough in the lab? Perhaps something more intense - something life-changing and irrevocable?  _ The thought was enough to make Anne’s heartbeat increase in tempo. 

But then she felt Gilbert tug at her lightly, leading her toward the chairs placed around the grand piano in the salon, and her interest shifted to the coming event. They quickly found their seats next to Diana, Jerry, Jo, and Cole in the front row of chairs, and they all chatted across one another happily as they awaited the performer. Jo had invited a friend - who happened to be a  _ very  _ famous coloratura soprano visiting from Sweden, to sing, and Anne and Diana had talked of little else but the singer’s arrival for days.

Aunt Jo had also strong-armed Diana into playing a recital piece after the soprano’s performance, and Anne could feel the nervous energy radiating from her beautiful friend. Diana had spent her time at Queens studying performing arts, but had been reluctant to play at any school concerts as of yet. She had confided to Anne that she was terrified to follow such a prestigious act, but all thoughts of nerves seemed to flee both girls as a beautiful and bejeweled blonde woman took the floor. 

Though she didn’t understand a single word, Anne sat perfectly still, completely enraptured as the soloist belted her operatic solo. When Madam Lind took a final bow to the staggering applause of the party-goers, Anne was surprised to find her cheeks wet with tears. Aunt Josephine nodded to Diana once the applause had died away and Anne reached out to grasp her friend’s hands, drawing her gaze while nodding solemnly at her. 

If anyone noticed Diana’s hands trembling as she approached the piano, no one mentioned it afterward, probably due to the emotionally resonant and flawlessly performed concerto piece that Diana pulled off with the grace of a professional. 

...or perhaps no one mentioned it because of what happened directly  _ after _ the piece had ended. 

Diana grinned broadly as she rose to thunderous applause, relief and joy evident on her face, and she curtseyed deeply to the audience. By the time she rose once more, a tall, handsome boy was standing before her. The entire party was to buzz for the rest of the evening about what followed next. 

_ At first I thought there was apt to be another scene like the one between the tall blonde and that roguish brunette - something having to do with Jo’s darling red-headed girl, no doubt - but then the tall, handsome young man just stood shining down upon that sweet girl… _

_ Did you notice the way his hands - such  _ large _ hands they were, too! - caressed her face as though she were made of the finest porcelain?  _

_ And then the boy just  _ swooped  _ at the poor girl! For a moment I thought she would faint, the way her knees seemed to give out! _

_ That was certainly  _ quite _ a kiss!  _

_ But she didn’t! No, after that first slight buckle, what does the girl do but  _ grasp _ the large man around the neck as though he were air and she was  _ drowning _?!  _

_ Such large,  _ powerful _ hands -- did you notice? _

_ I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Josephine Barry knows how to throw one  _ hell  _ of a party!  _

_ Just imagine how much darling Gertrude would have enjoyed that performance! _

Anne turned her tearful eyes to Gilbert as her best friend and her… well - her  _ Jerry  _ \- embraced, beaming up at him and once more incandescently happy. Gilbert looked every bit as pleased as she felt, which only served to make Anne feel more than ever that all was right in her world. 

“Oh, I’m just  _ so _ pleased they have worked things out! You’ve no idea how distraught she has been that she thought she had ruined her chance at love. My poor, sweet darling. Oh, their children will be  _ stunning _ , won’t they?” Anne enthused all of this in a single breath, looking back at the happy couple, and by the time she looked back up into Gilbert’s eyes he was openly laughing at her. 

“Yes, Dryad. Their children will be beautiful,” his eyes twinkled down at her, brushing his fingers across her tear-stained cheek. “I’m very happy for them, but speaking of the future, I have been  _ bursting  _ to tell you that I--”

Just then Diana came barrelling over to them, embracing Anne as forcefully as she could while still holding to one of Jerry’s (apparently quite large) hands. Before the smiling, shaking girls could say anything, the band struck up, and dancing commenced in earnest, beginning with a lively allegro waltz. 

Anne and Gilbert had danced together before, but Anne felt lighter than air as they went through one dance after another, weaving in and out between the other couples with her feet never quite seeming to touch the ground. After two waltzes and a fox trot, Gilbert disappeared briefly, telling Anne that he was going to fetch her some punch. 

When he came back a few minutes later, his hands were empty, but he was grinning at her widely, almost wolfishly. And then the opening strains of the  _ Dashing White Sergeant _ were struck up, and Anne bent double with laughter. 

“And what did you have to barter in order to get that respectable, formal-clad quartet to play this dusty old barn dance tune, Mister Blythe?”

Gilbert’s grin remained predatory as he gathered his date in his arms, depositing her next to him in line and leaning in close to growl into her ear, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

They continued dancing and laughing, their bodies close and overheated, enjoying every dance until Anne begged a respite for refreshments and rest. She remembered feeling accepted and enchanted last year among Jo’s dear friends and guests, but tonight she felt more than that - she was at-home, and it was all to do with her date. 

She had thought, after spending weeks in his presence, that the novelty of their young love would have worn off to some degree by this point, but she was proved wrong as each new touch to the small of her back as he guided her in a dance, each casual caress of her hand in his, each tender look sent a thrill of electricity zipping through her veins. 

The thought dawned on her more than once throughout the evening that she was exactly where she belonged - that each heartache and triumph alike had led her to this place with these people -- this person. The very idea made her head spin and her heart feel too-big in her chest. It was not an altogether unpleasant sensation. 

Somewhere between the banquet table and the unoccupied couch that Anne was leading Gilbert to, she remembered that he still had news to share with her, and her heartbeat raced, imagining what it could be. 

As soon as both of them were seated - plates of hors d'oeuvres balanced on their knees - she turned her pink-cheeked face upon him. 

“You mentioned news? I’m so sorry - this whole evening has been one distraction after another. I wish we had another week together after this - with how little conversing we have done so far tonight I feel as though I will need at least that long to feel sufficiently caught up with you after  _ two whole weeks _ without a letter!” 

Her smiling eyes and teasing tone caused Gilbert’s eyes to crinkle in fondness as he looked at her, replying with a cheeky grin, “Well, if it’s between conversation and whatever it is you were up to in that parlour room earlier, I think I would survive if I had to tell you my news in a letter instead of in-person. We could always go back - I am quite fond of that particular couch, now that I think on it...” His seemingly innocent expression - eyebrows raised in the middle, lips pursed - did not hide the wicked glint in his eyes. 

Anne’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red and her mouth popped softly open at Gilbert’s reminder of how she had mauled him an hour earlier. In response to her look, Gilbert guffawed loudly, then he leaned his head toward hers, their foreheads coming together as he quietly teased, “Don’t worry, Dryad. Our time on my favorite couch was so,  _ so _ much more than alright by me…” 

Gilbert leaned forward to press his lips lightly against hers, with no intention of stopping the kiss at an acceptable place considering the public setting, but the sound of glasses clinking against cutlery caused Anne to sit back sharply, their kiss ending in an audible  _ smack _ . She looked toward the main stairway expectantly, then tugged Gilbert forward. 

“Oh -- we didn’t even get to your news! It’s nearly time for Aunt Jo’s speech and my recitation! Come on, Gil. And after this--” she turned back to him with solemn eyes and pointed a finger into his chest, “no more distractions.” 

_____

Gilbert stood with her, looking behind him to the grand stairway where party-goers were beginning to congregate. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt overheated for a very different reason than he just had as he kissed the gorgeous, ethereal girl before him. He had been patient all night long, but he felt that he would explode with pride and apprehension and excitement if he didn’t share his news with her right that moment. 

She began walking forward, grabbing his hand to pull him along with her, when he reached out to her waist, spinning her back toward him as if they were in a dance. 

“Anne, wait -- if I don’t tell you this now, I’m afraid I’ll not get the chance tonight. I haven’t told anyone -- I was waiting, I wanted to tell _ you _ before I told anyone else, but I’ll burst if I don’t get it out now.” Gilbert’s chest was rising and falling as though he had just sprinted across town to tell the girl of his dreams he loved her before she was lost to him forever. 

Anne’s eyes were open wide, curiosity and trepidation warring on her face. She turned over her shoulder to look at the staircase. “I’m sure we can take a few minutes...” she turned back to him, swallowing noticeably then forcing an encouraging smile to her lips. “Tell me.” 

Gilbert gulped once in turn, then gripped both of her hands tightly in his, looked into her eyes, and blurted without stopping to draw breath, “ _ Anne, Dr. Oak submitted my name for a study-abroad exchange program, and I was accepted, and I’ve been given the funds and will be working under the most renowned doctors in all the world - doctors on the  _ front lines _ of immunology and vaccine studies for the entire year!” _

His chest heaving as he drew breath inward, Gilbert took in Anne’s expression - frozen in puzzlement, her eyebrows drawn together - and attempted to play back in his mind what he had just said, looking for whatever holes there were in his hasty announcement that kept her in confusion. 

He was still trying to figure out what he should say next when Anne shook her head asked, “Gil, I don’t--” 

Her words were cut off by another loud clinking of glasses. Before she could be distracted, Gilbert tried once more. “ _ Anne _ , I have been accepted to study at  _ the Sorbonne  _ next year.”

She was frozen again, and the crowd toward the staircase was beginning to quiet down considerably, causing a ripple effect throughout the hall. Gilbert’s eyebrows lifted, trying to convey his excitement, wondering why she hadn’t moved. 

“The Sorbonne?” She questioned him quietly, her brow still crinkled in confusion. 

“I’m going to Paris. It’s just like we talked about -- like I’ve dreamed! For the entire school year! Well, Christine said that she wouldn’t be surprised if they offered me a position after working with me. Imagine - I could  _ graduate  _ from the  _ Sorbonne _ ! I would be licensed to practice medicine there! And I--” 

Gilbert was interrupted by another loud clinking of metal on glass, followed by the boisterous voice of Josephine Barry, who shouted, “Has anyone seen my Anne-girl?! I seem to have misplaced her again. Anne?!” 

Gilbert was still grasping both of Anne’s hands in his, staring intently as he awaited her reaction. He had imagined a million scenarios as he anticipated sharing this with her on his long journey east - the one where she burst into happy tears, then kissed him all over his face and dragged him around the party to brag to everyone nearby about his promising career and their bright future was his favorite of the many outcomes he had envisioned - but never had he pictured that she would stand stock-still and unblinking. 

“Anne! Oh, there she is. Anne! It’s time for you to delight us all once more, my girl!” 

She closed her eyes slowly. Then her shoulders moved forward, her chest deflating. She pulled her hands from his and dropped them to her sides. She took a deep breath. 

Gilbert was about to ask her if she was alright when her eyes popped open. They were shining in the electric glow of the chandelier above them, but he couldn’t discern the expression in them. Her lips moved then, as though their corners were attached to marionette strings and someone had just given a tug. The smile was strange; out of place on her lips. 

“That’s--” she tried, but her voice was hoarse, without volume. She cleared her throat quietly, then lifted her chin and tried again. “That’s incredible, Gil. It’s-- I’m so…” she seemed at a loss for words, and Gilbert’s eyebrows fell over his eyes in bewilderment.

“Thank you all so much for coming to our annual wintertime soiree! It is a delight to see you all, and to celebrate our friendship, art, and the life of my beloved Gertrude…” Josephine began her speech to the crowd gathered all around her. 

“Excuse me, I must-- It’s time for my-- I’ll just be a moment.” She turned away as she spoke, mumbling the last bits over her shoulder. 

It was Gilbert’s turn to remain frozen where he stood, his hands still in front of him in the place where they had gripped hers. He knew he had botched the delivery of his news somehow, but he had no idea what to do about it now. 

_ What did I say? Why didn’t I just wait? I was going to get her alone… I was going to tell her about Paris, and we… and she… I can’t believe I started with that when I… When we…  _

His thoughts were frantic and scattered, and the self-incrimination in them was bruising. He wanted to go after her and try again, but he couldn’t interrupt her recitation. He could only stare after her and wait until she was free; until he could try again. 

He didn’t hear a word in Josephine’s speech until her tone changed, and with a warbling voice she announced, “It is once again my great pleasure to invite my friend Anne to read a passage from another of Gertrude’s favorites. She always loved a tragic romance, my Gertie. Anne?” 

Gilbert watched, still rooted to the spot, as Jo gestured toward Anne, who ascended the steps to stand next to her, a large, leather-bound book in her hands. 

She looked small and pale to Gilbert, and he took a step forward, wishing he could soothe and strengthen, but a moment later her mouth opened and her voice rang out clear and strong. 

“Heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath; where I woke sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret, as well as the other. I've no more business to marry another than I have to be in heaven. It would degrade me to marry my love now; so he shall never know how I love him. And that, not because he's handsome, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and any other is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.”

Gilbert stood entranced, as did the rest of the crowd, as Anne finished. A warmth spread out from Gilbert’s chest into his frozen limbs as he listened, and by the time her recitation was over he had taken a few involuntary steps toward her. 

He was reminded of that very first day, when he had marveled at her passionate recitation of poetry in a class full of children. Then, he had felt a little as though he had gone from a darkened room to the glory of the midday sun abruptly - she was too much, too bright. Now the draw he felt toward her was more like a connection; a tether. He felt the pull between them even now, as he watched her flooded with salutations by those nearest her. 

Gilbert was striding toward her until he found his way blocked by the close-pressed crowd. By the time he made it to the staircase, he had lost sight of her. 

A tap on his shoulder caused him to turn around, relief flooding him momentarily, but it wasn’t Anne behind him - it was an angry-looking Diana, Jerry at her elbow. 

“Gilbert Blythe, what have you done now?!” Gilbert was instantly transported to a train ride last fall: the same irate expression met him then, too. Last time, the moment he was accosted by Anne’s furious bosom friend was the great turning point of his life. From the looks of her, this time might be the time he had to be carried away on a stretcher. 

“Where is she, Diana?” Gilbert’s veins were filled with ice water as his body began to panic before his mind had caught up. What  _ had  _ he done now?

“Jerry just saw her grabbing her coat and running off into the snow! Cole tried to stop her, but she shook him off.  _ Jerry said it looked like she was crying,  _ Gilbert.” She said his name like it was something disgusting and vile; like she had to spit it instead of speak it. 

Gilbert moved toward the door, but as he attempted to side-step Diana he found her in his way once more. 

“Diana, it was a misunderstanding. I can fix it. Let me find her.” Gilbert didn’t recognize his own voice in his ears. 

“ _ A misunderstanding!  _ Please. After all that you--” Diana was clearly building up to let Gilbert have it, but a light touch on her arm seemed to calm her. She looked up at Jerry, who was looking at Gilbert.

“Find her.” Jerry’s face was stern, but his eyes were soft as he looked into Gilbert’s distraught face. 

Without another word, Gilbert ran for the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *turns off phone*  
> *locks doors*  
> *turns out lights*  
> *hides forever*


	8. Continue to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> “Can we just… Could we start over?” He looked so earnestly into her eyes as he said this that she nodded. Even as she agreed, though, her eyebrows drew downward in confusion over her tear-stained cheeks, the rest of her visage unusually calm - seeming to brace for the impact of whatever he would say next.   
> *****

_ Turn around right now. Go back. Talk it through. He  _ loves _ you. You  _ know _ he does.  _

Self-remonstrative thoughts tugged and tore at Anne as she wandered down the lane, pulling the mask from her face and stuffing it into the deep pockets of the coat she wore. Each step took her further from the place where Gilbert Blythe had shared his wonderful, incredible news, and Anne had just…  _ left him there _ . 

_ You selfish creature - how  _ could _ you? He is so excited, and you just ruined everything. He will never forgive you for being so unfeeling. _

These thoughts were barbs that pricked her skin and turned in her stomach. Before tonight, Anne had felt that she would never ask Gilbert to give up his goals for her; could never be anything less than completely happy for him to realize any one of his dreams. Yet when he had shared his news, all she had been able to think was:  _ You’re... leaving me? _

_ A year apart is  _ nothing _. You could do a year - you’ve already nearly done a full year apart! This is not a big deal. Unless…  _

Anne shook her head viciously, attempting to dislodge and outrun that thought as she strode aimlessly away from her fairy tale evening into the cold, dark night. She couldn’t finish that thought - it was too painful. It was that thought that she was running from - not Gilbert, not another interminably long and difficult year, this time across an ocean. 

_ Unless this means that he doesn’t want you after all.  _

Tears blurred Anne’s vision, and she stopped abruptly on the middle of the deserted sidewalk in the ghost town that was Charlottetown at night. She shuddered from head to toe, her body attempting to shake off the soul-crushing gloom that came with the realization of the one, awful thought which had driven her here - away from rational discussion and logical thought. 

_ That isn’t what he wants. That isn’t what this means.  _

The faint thought wasn’t strong enough to drive away the others - the ones that had made up her reality for the entirety of her lonely lifetime before Avonlea. 

She had known rejection in her life; was as familiar with it as she was with the sound of her own heartbeat, now rushing in her ears. She had never been wanted - not until she came to Green Gables. Now that she had been wanted in the most complete, delicious way by Gilbert Blythe - the only boy that had ever mattered in her universe - she feared more than anything that another rejection was coming. A rejection far greater than any other she had experienced before. 

_ And  _ you  _ thought that he wanted to  _ marry  _ you _ . __

This thought stabbed her heart, the pain piercing through her chest as her breath expelled with a  _ whoosh _ . Anne wrapped Cole’s long woolen coat more tightly around her, then stumbled forward to sit on a snow-dusted bench placed against the storefront where that last, painful thought had brought her up short. She took a shuddering breath in, then buried her face in her hands and cried. 

_____

Gilbert had exchanged his mask for the first overcoat he had laid hands on in the foyer of the Barry house, and bolted out into the clear, dark night. Snow lay in a light, even layer across the ground, and the full moon shone down onto its surface, lending an eerie light to the world around him. 

He looked right and left once he descended the staircase, searching for footprints -- afraid for a moment that his Dryad may have gone to find refuge in the bare, frozen trees. Mercifully he didn’t see any tracks toward the forest through the snow, so Gilbert dug his hands deep into the pocket of the oversized coat he wore, ducked his face into its collar, and followed the pathway away from the loud, cheerful party and into the silent night. 

I’m _ going to Paris! Like  _ I’ve _ dreamed!  _

Gilbert grit his teeth together as his words to Anne came back to him. Every step was a drumbeat of self-flagellating thoughts.  _ What were you thinking? How could you have said that? You’re a newspaper man, for goodness sake -- how could you have buried the lead  _ this badly _! Miss Stacy would be ashamed.  _

The image of Anne’s lost, vacant eyes assaulted him, too. He remembered having seen those eyes recently, as Anne had sat next to him in his hospital bed and told him stories from her childhood. She told him about her time spent in other family’s homes - a slave more than a cherished member of any family; in the orphanage, never fitting in, never belonging, always yearning. As she had shared her past with him, Gilbert had watched her vibrant, blue eyes drain to flat grey as she described the people - her tormentors - and places and feelings. He remembered wishing nothing but grief and pain to every person that had ever caused her to feel unloved and unwanted. 

Now he wished those things upon himself -  _ he  _ had hurt her. He ground his teeth together as he walked faster. He was the worst kind of villain, and all because of his own impatience, his own foolish, fumbling tongue. 

His mind raced through everything he had said wrong while he scanned the pathways which now faced him. One path led into the countryside, but something told Gilbert to follow the walkway into downtown Charlottetown. He knew Anne wasn’t going to Blackmore - she had planned to stay the night at Aunt Jo’s house, just as he had, but he felt certain somehow that she had wandered into the dark, empty streets of downtown. 

His eyes scanned the storefronts as he wandered, his steps slowing briefly as he passed the pawn shop where he had once bumped into her at Christmastime. That day he had been sent on an errand from the docks, and he remembered feeling a pull toward that side of the street. The sidewalks were bustling with holiday shoppers and travelers, but there was something drawing him to the window of a shop he had never visited before, let alone noticed. 

And then there she had been - her short braids topped with a snow-dusted cap -- the grey one that, despite its plainness, only served to accentuate the light she gave off. He stood and stared until she left the shop. He was helpless to do anything else, rooted to the spot at having conjured her there, to Charlottetown -- could there be any other explanation for the way she had been in his thoughts all day, and then there she was, just as he had wished for the thousandth time that he could have made things right with her before he set sail for lands untold? 

He wasn’t sure whether it was the remembered pull of that day that drew him to the pawn shop window once more, but as he approached his eyes made out the dark shape of a figure huddled on the bench outside of the tea shop where they had sat together. The moment he spotted her, his breathing slowed, while his heart accelerated. 

It occurred to him suddenly that he should have spent the last fifteen minutes coming up with a plan - something he could say or do to make everything that had gone wrong better - instead of swinging wildly between self-recrimination and nostalgia. The knowledge that he had no idea what he was doing did not slow his steps, however, and he hurried to her side, sitting next to her as he wrapped his arms around her. 

Her head, which had been buried in the too-long sleeves of her coat, looked up, her eyes and nose rimmed red, but she smiled slightly as she saw him. She burrowed into his shoulder and sobbed, “I’m so sorry! I was so selfish, and I just panicked. I’m so proud of you, though, and happy for you, Gil! You’re going to be an amazing doctor, and I don’t want you to worry about anything - this is incredible and I just--” 

She ran out of breath as Gilbert started to shake his head, ready to interrupt her. “Anne,  _ I’m _ the one who’s sorry - it all came out so wrong, and I hope you’ll let me try again. I didn’t mean to upset you and I…” Gilbert drew a deep breath, then he gently pulled her away from his shoulder so he could look into her eyes. 

“No, really, Gilbert. It’s fantastic news, and I am so happy for you. I am sure that we can work out the details of it all later. Congratulations.” Anne gave him a watery smile that he knew was sincere, but he just shook his head. 

“Can we just… Could we start over?” He looked so earnestly into her eyes as he said this that she nodded. Even as she agreed, though, her eyebrows drew downward in confusion over her tear-stained cheeks, the rest of her visage unusually calm - seeming to brace for the impact of whatever he would say next. 

Gilbert felt heartbreak and relief warring in him, and he willed himself to make the words come out right. His brow screwed up in concentration, the words coming slowly. 

“You graduate in May with your teaching certificate.” It wasn’t a question, but he waited for an answer, staring intently into her eyes as she nodded again. 

“And after that you can teach. Or take time off to write. Or you could apply to a four-year university and pursue a degree. Right?” Another nod, the crease on her forehead deepening as she tried to puzzle out where this was going. 

“What you do after Queens is wide-open right now, and whatever you do next, you’ll do it because it’s what you’re passionate about going after, but you haven’t decided what that will be yet.” Another non-question, another confused nod as Anne pressed her lips together. 

“Okay, so…” Gilbert took a deep breath, his hands still on the tops of Anne’s arms, his eyes locked onto hers. “So do the next thing in Paris.”

_____

After an entire day of preparation and excitement, followed by a whirlwind of a party, Anne’s mind trudged through what Gilbert had just said slowly, thickly. Her confusion must have shown plainly on her face, because he continued in the next moment. 

“Come to Paris with me, Anne. You could teach or tutor there, or you could take the year off to explore and become fluent and work on writing - you know I’d love to see you publish your stories. Or I could help you apply to the Sorbonne -- after the year is up, you could transfer back to school in Canada, or… or who knows? Maybe we will love it there? Maybe we would stay…” 

He seemed lost in his own thoughts for a moment, and Anne was grateful for a momentary reprieve to put together the puzzle in front of her. The things he had said were true, plausible, but she still couldn’t make sense of what he was suggesting somehow. 

Anne had never been one of those people who dreamed of living in Paris or galavanting around Europe. Her dreams were just as fantastic, considering her humble beginnings, though. She had dreamed of finding a place where she would belong, where she would be able to make a difference. She had dreamed of sharing her passions and talents, wherever that may take her. More recently, she had begun to dream of a cozy, white home by the sea, and a dark-haired someone to spend long, contented nights curled up against. 

But Paris was the future for her Diana - someone proper and cultured, who knew the rules of fine dining and riding side-saddle and whatever other ridiculous rules that seemed to exist purely to tell women what they could and could not do or be. Anne couldn’t place herself there - didn’t know how to begin the process of becoming a person who would live and work in Paris. 

_ I am not sure that I like cheese enough to live in Paris!  _ She thought wildly.  _ I’m not even all that interested in berets - though I am quite fond of my grey-knit winter cap - or onions hanging from bicycles or… what else? What would  _ I  _ do in Paris?  _

Only a moment had passed since Gilbert had last spoken, but Anne’s thoughts had run wildly away in that time, bouncing around inside her skull like rubber balls. She shook her head infinitesimally, her eyes wandering down to look at her lap, then out into the darkness around her, where she noticed that it had begun to snow softly at some point. But her gaze returned to his as he began to speak again. 

“When Christine told me that she had submitted my name - that I was accepted - the first thing I asked her was about the need for English teachers in France. Then I got information on housing and timelines and application processes for schools and visas and…” Gilbert trailed off as Anne felt her eyes grow wide. “Nevermind, that’s not important.” 

She watched as he closed his eyes tightly for a moment, inhaled a deep, shaking breath, and then opened his eyes, a new focus blazing in them. 

“Anne, I want you to come to Paris with me. Not because it would be too hard to be without you, though it honestly would be, but because it holds no interest for me without you. I want you to come to Paris with me because I can’t wait to start a lifetime of adventures with you. I want every day to start and end with you. I want to grow up and grow old with you.” 

Gilbert’s eyes were mesmerizing - Anne felt such a tidal wave of love and wonder and fear wash over her that she wanted to look away, if only to collect herself for a moment, but she found that she could do nothing but hold his stare and her breath. Then Gilbert reached into his pocket while holding her gaze, and continued.

“In this last year, I have realized nearly every single one of my dreams, Anne. I have a family again, I have a higher purpose in my life, I have an opportunity to become more than I ever thought I could in that purpose, too. I have this love which still feels like a dream most days, and makes all of those other dreams seem weightless in comparison. But I find myself selfishly wanting one thing more…” 

Gilbert knelt in the snow at her feet and held out a small gold and emerald ring in front of her. Her eyes didn’t leave his, though it was harder to see him now, with fresh tears obscuring her vision. “I’m kneeling on the very spot where we called a T-R-U-C-E before I left home,” he flashed a wide, cheesy grin at her before continuing, though his brief laugh came out in a shuddering breath, “so it feels like the perfect place to ask you to be my W-I-F-E.” 

Anne had felt paralyzed by the flood of thoughts and feelings coursing through her, but at this sweet, silly exclamation, she felt her shoulders shake and her lips grin and part as she, too, exhaled a shaky, incredulous laugh. Tears continued to fall from her eyes, but suddenly she felt like she could see everything clearly. 

She could picture sailing across the ocean with Gilbert, and reaching the coast of France with her arm tucked safely into his. She could picture long afternoons lecturing on subject-verb agreements, or see herself curled up in a window with a notebook on her lap and a pen between her lips. She could see them moving into her imaginary cottage by the sea, with a lovely garden out front, and a white gate at the entryway. She pictured evenings spent laughing and reading and cuddling close by firelight, Gilbert’s arm around her shoulders, or his head in her lap. She could see waking in the night to help him find his shoes or his coat so he could rush off to assist someone in town, or the way he would make breakfast for her early in the morning before he would head back to bed to sleep off an all-night house call. 

She had been so fixated on their age, on their dreams, that she had boxed her own imagination in with fear, but she knew now, in this moment, that they would do nothing but spur each other further, and fill in gaps for each other. Their lives and dreams and promises would fit together so perfectly, so easily, and she no longer needed the fear to keep her safe from disappointment or disaster. She had never needed it, really. It had only held her back from what she should have realized all along. 

“Anne… my Anne with an E… will you marry me?” 

_____

Gilbert's heart had pounded a painful rhythm against his chest as he had poured its contents out to Anne, but in the still and silent moment after he spoke those last words, it seemed to stop altogether. Time itself froze, his words hanging there between them, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from continuing on -- trying to back-pedal or convince or cajole or do anything but allow this awful, deafening silence to persist. 

_ I know we are young. I know we should wait. I know there is time. I know this is so much -  _ too _ much. But-- _

It was that  _ but _ that got him every time; that had driven him to bended knee on this cold, snowy night. 

_ But I can’t want to wait to start my life with you. _

When Christine had told him of the opportunity to study at the Sorbonne for a year, that had been his first, loudest thought. Before the excitement could settle, his mind had turned to Anne and how desperately he wanted to be with her. He had already been concocting a plan for his next letter to convince her to go for a four-year degree in Toronto so he could be close to her. He didn’t want to rush her - knew that she had reservations about people getting married so young. 

_ But-- _

As the silent moment stretched into its third second, Gilbert suddenly  _ knew  _ that he was too eager, too pushy, that he was going to scare her away, or make her angry, or hurt her again somehow. He had ruined this perfectly lovely evening, their perfectly lovely courtship, these perfectly lovely trousers. 

Moments before, when she had smiled with him, laughed with him, he had known the opposite of all of those things to be true - it had all felt so right - but now…

Gilbert’s heart resumed its break-neck speed pounding against his sternum as her lips parted - his body feeling that the verdict was upon him before his brain could spiral further. Her eyes shone, bright and blue and clear, catching the light of the moon high above them and causing Gilbert’s inhale to catch in his throat. 

“Yes,” she whispered, her lips quivering slightly as she smiled down at him, the tears in her eyes spilling over and onto her cheeks once more. 

Later, Gilbert would wonder again and again how he had managed to keep his feet on the ground. Happiness exploded inside of his chest - the feeling violent and all-consuming - as he pressed himself off of the ground toward her. His hands reached out to grasp either side of her head, and a second later his lips crashed against hers, their kiss messy through smiles and laughter and breathless exclamations made between soft presses of lips against lips. 

After a moment, Gilbert remembered the ring, which he had dropped during the explosion, and he spun around to find it - a task made difficult as he searched the ground nearby with tear-filled eyes. He quickly located it in the snow at his feet, then turned, kneeling once more, to shakily place it on her hand, bending to press a kiss over top of it. 

Anne smiled down at her hand, and then looked up into his eyes once more. She seemed at a loss for words, which was perfectly alright, since Gilbert was speechless at the moment, too. There was no room for words or thoughts inside of him anymore - only the blinding shockwaves of joy coursing through him. 

He sat next to her once more, his arm moving easily around her shoulders as she leaned into him, her head on his shoulder. They sat that way for an interminable amount of time - Gilbert didn’t know if it was minutes or hours, before Anne’s head snapped up as she gasped. 

Gilbert started as Anne turned wide eyes on him. “Wait. Gilbert,” she held his gaze, pausing to collect herself before sharing whatever horrifying thought had made her look afraid. “I don’t speak French… do you?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys! Just a reminder (in case you missed it last week) - my friend Jenni ILLUSTRATED A SCENE from chapter 6 and it is honestly so beautiful and steamy and amazing!  
> You can buy her a cup of coffee at [her KO-FI page](https://ko-fi.com/lovelyrugbee) to see all of her amazing, hawt Shirbert art!!
> 
> Also... I have an epilogue planned for this story... and that's it? I might change my mind and do a wedding first though? Or maaaaybe I will give into my baser impulses and do ONE MORE chapter from the soiree night... ugh I honestly don't know? haha I am feeling so wishy-washy tonight, and so, SO nervous for you to read this. But I suppose you already have, so there is nothing for me to worry about at this point! I just really, really hope that you liked it, is all. 
> 
> Please tell me what you think, and what you'd like to see next from this fic, if anything. It breaks my heart to think of finishing this wild thing because I will miss interacting with all of you so much. Once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for the support and kindness and all of it. I love your guts.


End file.
